Shades of Grey
by anondracomalfoy
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange is at large, and Harry Potter suspects that the only two who can stop the psychotic Death Eater and aid in saving the Wizarding World are an unlikely pair: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. AU.
1. Prologue

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Prologue**

"_For either way you choose, you cannot win."_

– _The Phantom of the Opera_

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><p>There was blood—that much he could recall. Crimson red dripping from the dirty flesh of his comrades; of his enemies. Bright red beads of blood that stained the stone tiles and mixed with the bright green flashes of curses that were thrown so carelessly about the battlefield. The inhumane shrieks and cries as loved ones crumpled under the curse was overwhelming, and no matter how many sleeping potions he took nor how far he isolated himself from society, he could still hear them. Could still very much <em>feel <em>and _taste _the essence of death and decay as it hung in the air, smothering all the life surrounding him.

He'd barely made it out alive—that long and endless day that was forever marked as the Battle of Hogwarts. The day that Voldemort fell and all of his followers fled was marked as one of victory by everyone who esteemed _him_—the Boy Who Lived. The boy who conquered death day in and day out. He was everyone's hero; he was their martyr. Children everywhere would know his name, and magical creatures across the land would praise him for his courageous feat.

He was everything Draco Malfoy wasn't. He was everything Draco would never be.

As with any war—both in the magic and Muggle worlds—there were repercussions for being involved with the losing side. And when one took in consideration the amount of destruction the Dark Lord had created over his many years of rising and falling from power, then the inky black Mark that branded Draco and the other Death Eaters who'd been left behind was even more vile and treacherous than the original intent. It occupied the pale region of his left forearm like a tumor—it was as black as the night, and swirling lines and shifting shapes that made up the trademark signature of Voldemort's most loyal followers shone brightly in the moonlight the night of the battle that one fateful night.

Draco often found himself staring at the Mark when he was forced to expose it to the world—the dark mass that was embedded into his alabaster skin produced an eerie and melancholy feeling to arise within the Malfoy Heir, and Draco once grew so disgusted with its physical appearance and metaphorical meaning that he'd been forced to run to the toilet and vomit whatever scraps of food he'd managed to digest that day.

Yes, the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War was taking its toll on Draco Malfoy, and with each passing day, his family's number ran thin.

As the Death Eaters were captured, questioned, and thrown into Azkaban as punishment for engaging in such a lost and dark cause, Draco calculated that his family's trial would arrive soon enough. The Malfoy name hardly went unnoticed in the events leading up to Harry Potter's greatest victory, and so it was only natural to assume that they were saving the best for last. The best for last was, he knew, meant to be saved for his "dear" Aunt Bellatrix, who'd only barely managed to escape Molly Weasley's killing curse and had slithered into the shadows of the night, but Draco and his family were definitely second best.

It was time that Draco Malfoy righted all of his wrongs; he had to once more protect his family, and as far as he knew, with a vicious tyrant deceased and all of his soldiers on the run, that gave Draco only one option.

His careful thought process had brought him to the doorstep of a house that was once said to belong to his family—full of portraits that still had grudges against impure blood and would have stood rotting and eroding, if not for its secret and most confidential purpose. A purpose that Draco had been quite aware of come the end of the War. The rain that coated the streets and pelted down from the dark and cloudy sky coated his skin, causing strands of his pale blonde hair to stick to his forehead. He shook the hair from his face and knocked once, his hand shaking slightly. Draco's teeth chattered together violently as he waited for someone—for _anyone—_to open the damn door and hear his plea. He'd practiced in front of the long mirror that stood elegantly in one corner of his room back at the Manor, and his speech seemed decent enough. It was an honest speech—one that Draco hadn't given in a long while.

When at last he thought that all hope was lost, he heard the jiggling of what appeared to be a series of locks, and soon the door before him slid open a crack. A bright green eye glanced him up and down once before opening wider, revealing someone that Draco knew very well. A boy turned man, though his crooked glasses and unkempt black hair were the same as they'd always been—enemy stood faced with enemy, and the man just inside the door stared at Draco in bafflement.

"Malfoy," He managed to spit out, and Draco could detect the disgust, malice and shock that mixed with the simple utterance of his last name. "What are you—"

"I want to join," Draco blurted out. Forget that his carefully planned speech had been thrown away at his proclamation—the look on the face of the man who stood opposite him was priceless, and Draco had to refrain from twitching his trembling lips into a small smirk.

He always _had_ managed to shock the hell out of Harry Potter.

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><p><strong>aN: **Hi! So this is the prologue of a fic idea I came up with once during AP Psychology. It's sort of taken possession over my mind inbetween writing for my other fic-_Redemption-_and so today, after successfully finishing another chapter of previously mentioned fic, I decided to write the prologue. If people like where this is headed, I'll try to upload the first official chapter soon, but for now, here's a sneak peek! Read, review, enjoy and-as always-thanks for coming!


	2. The Cloak, the Wand, and the Stone

**_Shades of Grey_**

**Chapter One: **The Cloak, the Wand and the Stone

"_You cannot change the world,  
>But you can present the world with one improved person—<br>Yourself."_

_-Brian Tracy_

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><p><em>A year and three months later…<em>

There were many things Hermione found herself unable to stand about Draco Malfoy—the way he smirked when others were discussing something serious, as though he was confident he knew the most practical solution quicker than any of the rest of them did. The way he always put far too much cream in his coffee so that it turned the dark liquid a warm and washed-out brown, claiming that it tasted best that way. The way he scoffed under his breath if someone were to devise a plan he didn't think was practical enough to be carried through successfully. Oh, everything about the man was insufferable! She didn't hate him, exactly, but it was just as good as hatred—she despised Draco Malfoy and everything he stood for. And yet somehow, he'd been accepted. Oh, of course Harry, Ron and the others weren't too keen on him joining the Order at first—Malfoy had been forced to submit to several sessions of questioning and underwent a multitude of inspection spells, but they found nothing but honesty running through his Pureblood veins.

And worse yet, he'd proved himself a useful ally, being the first to offer himself for the most daring of runs and searches—he liked adventure, that much Hermione had become painstakingly aware of in the year and a half she'd been forced to work with him. As arrogant as he'd been in their school days, Draco always seemed to believe that he could waltz through any and every mission with barely a scratch. And although he was skilled with a wand and even better with potions, Hermione felt that he was trying too hard to prove himself. Like he _wanted _everyone to accept him—rubbish, of course; Malfoy needed no one's acceptance. He simply _was_.

He still fought with everyone, just as he had during their school days. He hadn't called Hermione a Mudblood since his first week or two at 12 Grimmauld Place, and yet he still had that damn ego that had made him so many enemies at Hogwarts. He walked around the old Black house with a regal air, his chin jutted forward and his walk sort of a dominant swagger, as though he believed himself to be far and above the other members of the Order. And knowing Malfoy, he probably did.

But despite his attitude and snide remarks, everyone had been able to get along with him better than before, save for Hermione and Ron. Even Harry had learned to accept Malfoy as a changed man—it was Hermione's reluctance to trust the man who had conspired to kill Albus Dumbledore and Ron's temper and contempt for the fights the two used to engage in during their years at Hogwarts that kept the three constantly at each other's throats.

Today's argument started out just as all the others had—simple and stupid. Hermione and Draco never seemed to fight about things of real substance these days; only petty arguments that escalated into tantrums, and the other members of the Order would either be foolish enough to tear them apart or wise enough to steer clear. There was very little that could be done when both lion and serpent entered a state of verbal combat with one another, and Hermione was quite sure that one day the violence would turn physical—on her part, at least. She did, after all, have a track record for hitting particularly foolish members of the male gender.

Hermione had been seated in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, knitting a set of socks for Bill and Fleur's child, Victoire, in the spare time she had left out of her typically hectic day. She was humming a soft and sweet tune under her breath when she heard the drawing room open and looked up, expecting to see Harry enter and tell her what he needed her to do—he had, after all, mentioned a most peculiar mission for her to complete. When she looked up and instead met the piercing grey eyes that belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, she scowled and rolled her eyes, turning back to her work. She heard his defiant steps as the soles of his expensive black shoes clacked against the aged hardwood flooring of the house, and she soon felt his presence upon her. Forcing herself to look up, Hermione bit her tongue to refrain from making a comment about how he should wear less black, because perhaps _then _his skin wouldn't shine as translucent as that of a ghost's.

"Can I help you, Malfoy?" She managed to clip out, already feeling her temperature rising. Bloody hell, he hadn't even spoken and she was already preparing to lash out at him! If she wasn't so agitated by his mere presence, she quite possibly might have snorted at how completely ridiculous it was.

"Just admiring the wonderful rag you're knitting," He slurred, cocking one pale brow and smirking at her. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and Hermione huffed, her hands clenching around the handiwork on her lap in front of her.

"There's nothing wrong with my knitting, _Malfoy_," She spat, her jaw clenched as she lifted her hazel orbs to glare at the conceited man towering above her. He was so _tall_, and that made her retort seem weak; almost as if it had gotten squished underneath his long and slender legs.

"If you're knitting blind, I suppose not," He said with a shrug, turning away and walking towards the window. It was another rainy day in London, and the fat drops of rain pattered against the windows, the precipitation streaking the glass with the drops of water that trailed down and dripped off the sides of the window sill.

"No one asked you to come in here and insult me," Hermione began, casting her knitting to the side so that she could focus on the issue at hand—the tall, blonde, insufferable issue. She moved to stand, wobbling slightly as her anger caused her knees to buckle beneath her. "Just leave, Malfoy, there's plenty of other rooms in this house to occupy your boredom with."

She could practically _feel _Draco roll his eyes at her response, and slowly he turned to face her, a mild look of disinterest encompassing his fair features. His silver eyes scanned her over once before settling on her chocolate brown eyes, his face devoid of any emotion to betray how he felt.

"I'm fine here, thanks."

"I wasn't inquiring as to how comfortable you were in this room, Malfoy—I was—I was telling you. _Leave."_

A small noise that sounded very much like a mocking snort escaped Draco's lips, and he stood tall as he turned around to face her much more clearly, and Hermione was once more overwhelmed with the urge to smack away the smirk that was just itching to broaden across his face.

"As it is, Granger, I was told to come here and wait for specific instruction," Draco clipped out, clearly aggravated by her insistent desire to motivate him to evacuate the room and leave her in peace. "So if you want to be away from the delicious pleasure of my company, it is you who must go."

Hermione stifled the urge to bark a short mocking laugh in his face—the _delicious pleasure of his company _indeed! He provided about as much fun to a gathering as a Dementor! She once more realized just how aggravating this man was, and narrowed her eyes in disgust at him.

"As it is, I'm here on business, as well," She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. Just then, something dawned on her, and her face contorted into one of bemusement. If Malfoy had been sent to the drawing room to await orders just as she had, then did that mean…?

Before she was allowed to register the end of that dreadful thought, the door once more opened, revealing a very tired and very disgruntled Harry Potter. Hermione beamed at the sight of him—good, Harry was here! Malfoy wouldn't dare to insult her in front of Harry—well, alright, yes he would, but Harry still served as an ally. "Converted man" or not, Malfoy was still Malfoy, and Hermione was still Harry's best friend.

"Brilliant, you're both here," Harry said, sighing in relief as he shut the door behind him. He gazed warily at the pair of heated individuals for a few moments, as though he was trying to decide whether or not to get involved in the argument he'd assumed had taken place shortly before his arrival. Evidently deciding he wished to keep some semblance of peace, he ignored the tense pair and moved to stand between them, clasping his hands together.

"What are we doing here, Potter?" Draco asked, leaning against the window. He never was much for waiting.

"Well, d'you remember how George heard from that Ministry official who came into the shop that there had been an outbreak of escaped prisoners at Azkaban?" Harry asked, his green eyes flickering back and forth between the two. Draco nodded, and Hermione's brows knit together.

"You mean the prisoners who escaped—the Death Eaters, right Harry?" Hermione asked, trying to swallow the mounting lump in her throat. Escaped Death Eaters weren't a good sign, whether or not their leader was deceased. Draco rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath that yes, that was clearly what _Potter _had just said, and that she needed to learn to pay closer attention next time. Hermione ignored his snide remarks, instead tugging on a curly strand of hair and listening to Harry attentively.

"Yes, those," He explained, clearing his throat before continuing. "Yes, well they're building a ermm…a resistance of sorts."

"A resistance?" Draco asked, suddenly intrigued. He shoved off from the window, moving closer in order to hear the account of what was occurring in the Wizarding World just beyond these four walls. Harry merely nodded in response—something was clearly worrying him; Hermione could tell by the crease between his brows. This wasn't good, not at all.

"There's talk that Bellatrix Lestrange is behind it," Harry continued, and Hermione tensed immediately at mention of the name. Instinctively, her eyes flickered down to her arm, covered only by her sleeve, yet she could practically feel the word _Mudblood _rising on her skin from just the mention of the Witch who had embedded it into her flesh.

"And do we have any lead on her plans? Any at all?" Draco inquired suddenly, and Hermione was mildly shocked that he seemed so…intrigued. Harry managed a slight nod, though it wasn't entirely convincing.

"She's gathering up former Death Eaters, and trying to recruit new ones. We don't know where she is, and we're trying to plot out possible safe houses that she and the other recruits could hide out in—we suspect they've got some sort of underground system or hidden Portkeys set up around Great Britain, but we haven't narrowed it down. We do, however, have some lead on how we think she's going to plan to errr…vanquish us, so to speak."

"What? What is she planning to do?" Hermione breathed, the tips of her fingers trembling with anticipation. Harry's gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment before he inhaled sharply, keeping his gaze settled on the both of them as he tried to explain the conclusion that Harry had reached earlier in his private meeting with the Arthur and Molly Weasley, as well as Andromeda Tonks and Bill Weasley.

"We think she's trying to collect the Deathly Hallows—to use as her ultimate weapon," Harry explained darkly. "If she becomes the 'Master of Death', as the legends always say, then it will be twice as difficult to stop her."

Draco pursed his lips for a moment, deep in thought before he opened his mouth and decided to comment on Harry's explanation thus far.

"The Deathly Hallows? You mean like in the story books? The—"

"Yes," Harry interrupted him, clearly wanting to get on with the story. "The cloak, the wand and the stone."

"Those are real?"

"Yes, Malfoy, they are."

"Have you _seen _them, Potter, or are you just lapping up that Nargle shit that Lovegood's always tossing around?"

"I've _seen _them, Malfoy," Harry clipped out in aggravation, grunting to himself before exhaling, pausing for a moment before he decided to go on.

"Now, _as I was saying, _if we're going to try and nip this thing in the bud, then we've got to make sure we've got the Deathly Hallows in our possession. Without them, she's still vulnerable—Bellatrix might be crazy, but she's not a threat to take lightly. We've got to handle this with extreme caution."

Hermione merely nodded, but of course—of _course_—Malfoy had something to say about the entire ordeal.

"So where does that leave Granger and I, Potter?"

Draco' s question seemed to make Harry feel quite uneasy, for he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the question being directed at him. The guilty stance that the Boy Who Lived took on made Hermione feel suddenly nauseas and she paid close attention to her closest friend, desperate for him to speak and slice the tension that was slowly building.

"Well, see, someone's got to go on a search for the Hallows. The cloak's safe, and I should have destroyed the wand when I had the chance, as well as the stone, but I didn't. They're somewhere out there now, and I don't have the time or the means to find them. I have to start rallying troops, and Ron's got to help me. No one else, I believe, has the wit and means to survive on their own and locate them, other than…"

"…other than us," Hermione whispered, unable to believe what she was really hearing. As if news of Bellatrix Lestrange on the rise wasn't enough, did Harry _really _expect her to go on a mission alone, with no one but Malfoy for company? Did he really expect them to _work _together? No, of course no, she was simply getting ahead of herself. Harry would never…

"Well, yes," Harry answered simply, causing both Hermione and Draco to reel in shock.

"Listen, Potter," Draco began quickly, stepping forward. "I know you think you're the most intelligent cad this side of Europe and whatnot, yeah yay you beat the Dark Lord and all that shit, let's throw you a fucking party, but you've got to be barking _mad _to assign the poodle and I to be partners."

Hermione refrained from slapping him for his derogatory manner of speaking, balling her hands into fists and digging her nails into the supple flesh of her palms. She gritted her teeth for a moment, quivering with fury and resentment.

"We're in the middle of something very serious, and I don't have time to deal with the difficulties you two have with one another," Harry scolded, and in that moment Hermione realized just how much Harry had matured since their school years together. He was a man now, that much was certain. "So just…I dunno…sort it out! You both need to leave by tomorrow in order to get ahead—the more of a head start we have on your lunatic aunt, Malfoy, the better."

Draco narrowed his grey eyes slightly as Harry personalized the connection between Malfoy and Bellatrix, but otherwise made no comment. He muttered a string of curses under his breath, and Hermione was almost tempted to beg Harry for a reassignment when the look in his emerald green irises told her all she needed to know—this was serious, and like it or not, Hermione had to go through with it. She'd muster up all of her Gryffindor nobility and courage, and face the albino snake head-on.

Draco Malfoy wasn't going to get the best of her—not yet.

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><p><strong>aN: **So once again, after completing a chapter of _Redemption_, I found myself wanting to write but unable to focus on my main fic. I had some inspiration for this chapter and decided to go with it, so I hope you all enjoy! As a side note, if you haven't guessed by now, this is an AU fic, and so—unlike the book and the movie—Harry neither destroyed nor hid the Elder Wand. My song rec for this chapter is "What I've Done" by Linkin Park, so yeah, hahah let me know what you all think.


	3. The Serpent's Lair

**_Shades of Grey_**

_*Read the a/N at the end, please!_

**Chapter Two: **The Serpent's Lair

"_Kiss me, and you will see how important I am."_

_- Sylvia Plath_

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><p>"She is absolutely and irrevocably the most infuriating creature in the world!" Draco spat, snatching a neatly-folded cotton t-shirt out of the mahogany dresser, whose drawers stood ajar, and stuffed it inside his trunk, wrinkling the article of clothing in the process.<p>

Angrily mumbling to himself as he stuffed yet another piece of clothing in the case—this time a pair of black trousers—Draco cleared his throat and continued to complain about this distasteful situation he'd managed to land himself in.

"I mean really," He continued, rolling his eyes. "How the fuck does Potter expect us to work together? Someone must've dropped him on his bloody orphan head one too many times."

Running a hand through his white-blonde hair, Draco began pacing back and forth in the spacious room of his flat, far too agitated to even bother packing his trunk properly. He heard a very feminine sigh emanate from the master bathroom connected to his room, and Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes at the soft sound.

"It's just one mission, dear," came the soft and composed voice of Astoria Greengrass, who sat at the vanity in the bathroom. Draco's silver eyes met her light blue ones from the reflection in the mirror, and he watched as she plucked a bobby pin from its resting place on the counter in front of her and finished pinning back the last strand of her raven-black hair.

"Just one mission?" Draco sputtered incredulously, arching one fair brow. "This is Hermione fucking _Granger_ we're referring to here, you do realize that, don't you? How the hell am I supposed to know what it's like to camp with her? What if she does some weird know-it-all Mudblood voodoo shit?"

"Such as?" Astoria challenged, her lips puckered slightly. Draco managed a half-hearted shrug, stumped by her question.

"I don't know," He managed in exasperation, flailing his arms about. "Do some kind of weird ritual dance around a pile of books or something."

"Draco," Astoria warned, moving to stand. Her long silk nightgown billowed around her, sweeping across the floor as she glided out of the bathroom and towards him. She shook her head in a manner of disapproval at him, her lips lifting into a slight smile. He noticed a strand of her hair had fallen free, and once she was close enough he moved to tuck it behind her ear.

"You're going to be fine, stop being so damn dramatic."

At her response Draco scoffed, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to express his disgust.

"You say that now," Draco commented, his eyes narrowed slightly. "But you'll be sorry when you receive the news that your boyfriend was suffocated in his sleep by the dead animal residing on top of Granger's hair."

Astoria gave a short laugh in response to his jest—a cool and dignified sort of gesture that sent a slight shiver down Draco's spine. Astoria the Ice Queen—so many thought of her this way, and it was only when they were alone that the younger of the Greengrass sisters managed to let her guard down.

She was his confidante—he was her shoulder to lean on, and together they made what the Wizarding World deemed a superb match. There was just one obstacle that stood in the way of their happiness.

Draco didn't love her.

He suspected that Astoria had been aware of the fact that his attachment rooted no further than friendship for quite some time. Just how she felt about him, however, was a different story entirely. Sometimes, during their bouts of forced intimacy, Draco felt as though her attachment was founded on a much more…_personal _level. He knew that she was more than likely expecting a proposal of some sorts, whether or not he loved her as one _should _love a future wife, but Draco found himself unable to fully commit to her. Perhaps it was because he had difficulty trusting another in such an intimate matter—perhaps he was such a fucked-up individual that the concept of love was too foreign to him.

Perhaps he just hadn't found the right person yet.

Nevertheless, there was a small black box hidden away in the corner of his dresser, hidden under a stack of clothes he rarely wore that held a decently-sized diamond ring in it. Draco had been planning to propose to Astoria within the next few weeks, but with the sudden arrival of this mission he was being forced to complete with _Granger, _Draco was left with two options: give Astoria the ring now, or wait until he'd finished finding and claiming the last two remaining Hallows before proposing.

Like the coward he believed himself to be, Draco chose to wait. After all, there was no harm in mulling things over for a little while longer, was there? She would, after all, be patiently waiting for him once he finally returned, just as she always had—it was in her nature. It was who she was.

So for now, the ring was stashed safely away. Perhaps she'd find it while he was gone—perhaps she wouldn't. Either way, it didn't make too much of a difference to him; she was bound to be expecting the engagement sooner or later. Draco had merely grown tired of waiting for himself to fall in love with a woman he so clearly was destined to view as only a friend.

Perhaps marriage would be good for them. Maybe it would fix whatever emotional malfunction seemed to be occurring within Draco's heart.

"I received another Owl from Hogwarts today, you know," Astoria commented, breaking away from him and snapping Draco out of his interior monologue. The Malfoy Heir blinked twice, his hazy grey eyes adjusting to the dim setting of their room as he quirked one brow in response to her statement. Grunting slightly, he removed the shirt he'd been wearing and balled it up, tossing it to the floor. Astoria merely rolled her eyes at his action, walking over to the nightstand and retrieving her wand. With a dainty flick of her wrist, she fixed the mess that Draco had made of his luggage, and a sensation of embarrassment washed over him when he realized that, in his agitation, he'd forgotten that he could have just bloody well _magically_ packed his damn trunk in the first place. A fresh wave of irritation washed over him, but he brushed the emotion aside, slipping out of his trousers and searching for his emerald pajama bottoms. Finding his favorite pair, he slipped them on and tied the string at the waistband before finally turning to face her.

"What did this one say?" He inquired.

"Oh, the same as always," Astoria answered evasively, her hand flitting around in the empty air as if to brush off the subject. She picked up a stray sock that had somehow managed to escape her supervision as she packed his trunk and gently folded it, placing it on top. Draco walked closer, noting how much tidier his luggage looked now and sighed in relief before reaching over and closing the lid, latching the trunk shut with ease. He leaned over and brushed his lips against her soft cheek, muttering a "thanks, love," before picking up his own wand from its position on the bed. Murmuring an incantation to himself that he'd grown to learn by heart, Draco watched as his luggage shrunk itself, and he felt a swell of pride at his skilled magic. Shrinking his luggage had taken a bit of practice over the years, but after several sessions of working the spell, he'd finally gotten the hang of it.

Feeling satisfied, he picked up the now-miniature trunk and placed it on his nightstand, mentally reminding himself not to forget the crucial item the next morning when he departed for his dreaded mission with the Queen of the Bush-Haired. Realizing he'd never answered Astoria, Draco turned his gaze towards her and replied with,

"You really should go back, you know. They've rebuilt Hogwarts and I'm sure that McGonagall makes a fine Headmistress…even if she can be a bit batshit crazy and aggravating as fuck."

"Why do you want me to go back so terribly, Draco?" Astoria asked quietly, her dark brows knitting together in confusion. She gazed at him coolly, demanding an answer, and with a grunt Draco made to sit down on the bed, crossing his legs at his ankles and leaning against the headboard. He placed his tongue between his lips for a moment, as though assessing his response, before he finally settled on,

"You never finished your schooling."

"Neither did you," She countered snippily with a glare, moving to the other side of the bed. She laid down next to him, her own head resting against the headboard. She craned her neck to look at him, her bright blue eyes assessing him in the dark. He could feel her judging him; it was something he bloody well _hated _about her—she was always scanning him over and assessing his persona, as though she could learn something about him. As though she were trying to disapprove of him.

"Yeah, but I only didn't finish my seventh year," He argued, shifting on the bed and turning to face her. He didn't understand why she was so against returning to school. Then again, the same could be said for him.

But…that was different. It was _completely _different. Draco's family had been activists on Voldemort's side during the War, while Astoria's family had remained neutral. Returning to Hogwarts would have meant hell for him and would have cost him the chance to redeem his family…returning for her, he believed, would not cause such a problem.

When Astoria said nothing, Draco felt the blood boil beneath his skin, and a slow hiss escaped his lips.

"You're seventeen years old, Astoria! You're supposed to be at school preparing for your N.E.W.T.S. or…or shit, frolicking with some bloke in the fucking courtyard! You're not supposed to be shacking up with a Death Eater every night in a flat in the middle of London."

Silence fell across the couple at Draco's outburst, and all he could hear besides the pounding in his ears was his labored breathing. He wasn't sure what had just transpired, but Astoria's lack of response frightened him. She always had something to say in response to one of his arguments—_always._

"So, what you're saying is—" She began, clipping the words out to mask the hurt behind her voice that Draco had grown to know so well over the past year. "—is that you don't want me here."

Draco rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to scoff. Of course, leave it to Astoria to deduce something like that from his little tirade. Honestly, was she ever going to get it?

"No, of course not," He drawled, offended by her accusation. Honestly, she knew him better than that. "I'm merely saying that you were only in your fifth year when the Battle of Hogwarts occurred—you hadn't even finished your O.W.L.'s. I just think you deserve to give yourself a chance, is all."

"Then we agree to disagree," was all that she could manage to say. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, and finally Draco cleared his throat just to rid himself of the unsettling aspect of it all.

"Look, it's your last night, and I don't particularly wish to fight," Astoria said suddenly, and Draco noted that her voice was quieter than usual; softer than usual. He turned his gaze on her once more, his silver eyes finding her bright blue ones in the dark. They were glossy, he realized, and idly wondered if she was holding back the urge to cry. _Ridiculous_, he thought to himself. Astoria didn't cry—not even in front of him.

"Alright," Draco agreed, the prospect of not fighting with her on his last night in the comfort of his soft and luxurious bed more than satisfying. Yawning, he stretched his limbs and made to dive under the covers, but a soft hand on his arm stopped him. Inquisitively, he turned to Astoria once more, and she seemed to be pleading to him in the dark.

"I know you don't enjoy doing it often, but I was just wondering if we could…" She trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence to Draco's imagination.

So…sex then, he decided.

While, like any other teenage male with overactive hormones, he loved the prospect of sex, the idea of doing so with Astoria always seemed wrong to him, somehow. Perhaps it was because he felt no emotional attachment and he feared that she did. Maybe it was even a small amount of decency lingering within him that even he himself was unaware of. Whatever the case, the prospect of having sex with Astoria was something he tried to avoid by habit, but something in him felt sympathy for her tonight. She seemed defeated, somehow, and he begrudgingly decided that the least he could do for the damn girl was give her what she wanted.

Without responding, Draco pulled her close and kissed her. His mouth worked mechanically against her own, and while her lips were soft and warm, he felt no lusty passion for her. She slowly and hesitantly moved to grip him by the shoulders, pulling him on top of her. They worked as though they were two parts of a machine—there was no love in it for Draco; no deeper emotions, nor was there anything he could hold onto and claim as a bout of passion. It felt wrong and it felt cold—it felt nothing like what he'd assumed sex would be like, and seeing as how she was the only woman he'd ever done anything sexual with, he doubted he'd ever find out what it felt like to have mind-blowing and passionate sex. He wanted a good fuck; he wanted someone to roll around in the sheets with and shag senseless. He wanted someone who could make him moan until his throat was hoarse; make his hips thrash wildly with desire and his vision blur with passion.

But instead, Draco forced himself to settle for this. He was always settling for things—settling for a life at the Order to save his family; settling for a life branded by the Mark to keep him and his parents alive; always _settling. _

And as he and Astoria consummated their relationship once more, Draco realized how cold and distant the act of intimacy was.

Just like everything else in his life.

* * *

><p><strong>aN:** Hello, everyone! Alright, so I've decided, with this fic, that I wanted to include a love triangle. If you follow me on Tumblr, then you've already been made aware of this. I didn't want to do the traditional Draco/Hermione/Ron love triangle, so I decided to use Astoria. That sounds awful, I know—_use _Astoria. I just wanted to take this time to clarify that this is, quite obviously, a Dramione fic, and the Astoria interactions will be limited. I just needed to take this chapter to establish their relationship, and the lack of love in it from Draco's side. I hope you're all enjoying this so far, because I have a lot of plans for this fic! Thank you for reading, and as always, let me know what you think xx.


	4. Mr and Mrs Wilson

_**Shades of Grey**_

_*Read the a/N at the end, please!_

**Chapter Three: **Mr. and Mrs. Wilson

"_My nearest and dearest enemy."_

_- Thomas Middleton_

* * *

><p>Hermione had convinced herself it wasn't going to be all that dreadful. Really, it was just Malfoy! Sure, he had the tendency to make unnecessary remarks and get her blood boiling quicker than any other being she knew, but…but he was certainly no <em>real <em>threat. Nothing Hermione couldn't handle on her own, at the very least. And really, this mission was for the greater good of humanity, and she was quite certain that it would be better to deal with Malfoy's stubbornness and childish insults for an extended period of time than to risk someone like Bellatrix Lestrange rising to power.

That didn't mean she had to be particularly _pleased _with it, however.

"Hermione?" Came the persistent voice of Ginny Weasley, and the bushy-haired Golden Trio member snapped herself from her thoughts, turning to look at her ginger-haired friend sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, what?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed together slightly.

"I _said,_" Ginny began again, sounding slightly exasperated. Given her tone of voice, Hermione suspected that Ginny had been attempting to get her friend's attention for the past few minutes. The embarrassment from recognizing this caused Hermione to slide further into the rickety chair she was seated at in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, waiting for her friend to continue. "That's all I need to know about watching after Crookshanks, right?"

"Oh, yes! One cup of food a day—he's getting a bit too heavy, and I'm trying to watch his meal intake—and let's see, what else…ah! Crooks doesn't like thunderstorms, so he might be a bit testy during the horrid ones that come this time of year, and aside from that he's really not that difficult to look after, I promise!" Hermione exclaimed breathlessly, ticking the items off on her hand and licking her lips. She made a mental note to thank Ginny for doing this for her later—perhaps she'd knit her friend a scarf or something of the like when she returned!

"Alright," Ginny replied, nodding her head. She made to sit down next to Hermione at the table, but a swift knock at the front door that resounded through the house distracted her, and the youngest of the Weasleys exited the room promptly in favor of answering the door.

Hermione looked around the kitchen of the Order Headquarters idly, drumming her fingers against the wooden tabletop. She suppressed the urge to yawn, bitterly recognizing that—thanks to packing, worrying and harboring negative thoughts about her new mission partner—Hermione hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.

Deciding that a cup of coffee seemed to be the most logical option at this point, Hermione stood up from her place at the table and walked across the room to where the coffee maker resided. Having grown up in a Muggle household, Hermione much rather preferred brewing beverages herself than making them by magic—it tasted different somehow, and she'd swear so until her dying day.

She rooted around in the cabinets, mumbling in irritation under her breath that someone had yet _again _screwed up the organization system she had set up for the items in the kitchen. By the time she'd finally located the canister of coffee and had scooped out enough for a pot, she heard footsteps and the mumbling of multiple voices approaching.

The door leading to the kitchen swung open, and Hermione turned around to see Ginny leading none other than Neville Longbottom into the room. Hermione beamed at him, waving as she stood by the counter, and Neville gave a shy sort of wave in return. While he had certainly grown out of the excessively-introverted and shy demeanor he'd had during their years together at Hogwarts, Neville still had his shy moments. They were like his quirks, almost.

"Hello, Neville, how are things at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked in as cheery a manner as she could manage, turning around and grabbing the empty pot, filling it with water and pressing the button on the machine to brew the coffee. Neville shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly, and Hermione noticed a few scrolls were clutched in his hand. Turning back to face him, she eyed the plethora of parchment warily, one brow arched.

"Hello, Hermione," Neville responded, walking over to the kitchen table and setting the papers down. He exhaled slightly, brushing his hands against his trousers and turning to face her again. "Hogwarts is great—been working with Professor Sprout every day in Herbology; she says she thinks she might be able to help me get a job once she retires!"

"Neville, that's fantastic!" Hermione exclaimed, genuinely happy for her friend. Neville, of all people, deserved to have the job once Professor Sprout retired—he'd worked so hard at the class for as long as she'd known him. Ginny smiled warmly, moving to take a seat at the kitchen table. Hermione watched as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail before turning her attention back to Neville, still curious as to what the papers still scattered across the kitchen table were.

"What are those, Neville?" She asked, pointing to them and tugging her lips into a slight frown. She turned around, flicking the switch on the coffee maker to turn it off and standing on the tips of her toes, reaching for a green mug in in the cabinet. Pulling it down, Hermione grabbed the pot by the handle and poured herself a steaming cup of coffee, waiting for Neville to speak.

"Well, they're some scrolls Harry's asked me to pick up," Neville explained, and she heard the scooting of a chair against the flooring of the kitchen, and could tell that Neville had taken a seat. Hermione nodded slowly, still unsure as to what he was getting at as she rummaged for some sugar. Finding the small glass container filled with the sugar crystals, she set it down on the counter and walked over to the refrigerator, opening it wide and pulling out the cream saucer that was always kept on the second shelf of the fridge and—oh, blast! Someone had moved it, as well! Growing irritated that no one could seem to put things back in their bloody place, Hermione spotted the white china that held the cream at the back of the fridge's bottom shelf and snatched it angrily, shutting the door with a thud and walking back to her mug of coffee.

"Yes?" Hermione asked breathlessly, urging for him to continue as she began to prepare her cup just the way she liked it. An equal amount of cream and sugar had always been the trick, in her opinion—it was like a routine to her.

"Well, after hearing that Bellatrix was on the rise again—" Neville spat the woman's name as though it were toxic, and Hermione's heart ached for him—poor Neville, having to put up with the woman who'd ruined his parents' lives being alive was one thing, but knowing she was gaining power again was even worse. "—Harry asked me to check the archives in the Restricted Section. Did y'know they've got files stored back there of where the most infamous Death Eaters were located during both the first and second Wizarding Wars? Their known hideouts, how active they were, things of the sort."

Hermione did not, in fact, know this, and the shock shone on her features. There was something in the library she hadn't been aware of? She almost felt disappointed in herself. Placing the sugar and cream away, Hermione grasped her mug by the handle and shuffled over to the table, her brows still knit together as she sat down by Neville.

"What does it say about Lestrange?" Ginny asked, leaning over and grabbing one of the scrolls. She opened it, looking over the document and reading to herself as Neville rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Hermione blew on her steaming mug of coffee, the warmth radiating from the mug sending a delicious shudder of content down her spine.

"It gives a lot of background information about what kind of person she is—things we all know, really," Neville explained, placing his hands palm down on the table. "It also explains her most…favorite hiding spots. I figured you and Malfoy could probably use it; check those places first in case she's already gotten what you both need."

"Thank you, Neville," Hermione said with a nod, taking another sip of her beverage. She leaned over, reaching for the parchment and was beginning to place them in the charmed bag she'd packed for herself on the table when she heard the front door open and slam shut. Neville winced, Ginny sighed, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Malfoy was here.

Hermione heard his determined steps as he made his way into the kitchen, and she groaned inwardly. There was no more hope that Harry might've changed his mind—Malfoy was here and there was no turning back. She'd have to complete this damn mission with him, and if he—

Suddenly the kitchen door swung open and Draco strolled in, his scowl transforming into a delighted smirk when he noticed the other three occupants of the room.

"Schlongbottom, when'd you get here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts, fucking a Mandrake or something?" He inquired, walking further into the kitchen and past the trio seated at the table. Neville scowled and muttered something crude under his breath about the Malfoy Heir. Ginny snickered, bending over the piece of parchment she still had before her.

"He came to give us helpful information for our mission, _Malfoy_, there's no need to be so crude," Hermione snapped, feeling her face flush with anger. Honestly! It was as if he thought he could just treat anyone however the hell he wanted! Hermione heard him scowl and grit her teeth in response, angrily stuffing the pieces of parchment into her bag and clasping it shut, heaving an aggravated sigh. She heard Draco rummaging through the cupboard, followed by the sound of him pouring himself a cup of coffee. Hermione picked up her own mug and took a gulp, the hot liquid practically scalding her throat.

Draco sauntered over to the table, sitting down opposite from Hermione and leaning back, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a sip. He sputtered in response, his nose crinkling in disgust as he set the mug down.

"Who the fuck made this?" He demanded, jabbing an index finger towards the cup. Hermione jutted her chin forward, her hazel eyes blazing as she stared him down.

"I did," She responded coolly.

"It tastes like shit."

"Then why don't _you _make the damn coffee, then?"

"Well clearly I couldn't have made the coffee, Granger, I only just got here and was welcomed by this pathetic attempt at coffee that tastes like Weasley spat in it."

"Don't talk about my brother that way!" Ginny interjected, her brows furrowing together in anger.

"Oh, look now, Granger, you've gone and upset the Weaslette; now she's going to suck my soul out and harvest it for her own," Draco spat in exasperation, slumping back in his chair and lacing his hands together.

"You have to own a soul in order for someone to steal it, Malfoy," Hermione spat, and Ginny rolled her eyes before standing and leaving the room, detaching herself from the situation at hand. Neville, not wanting to be caught in the middle of another one of their fights, followed after her, leaving the serpent and the lion alone.

"Wonderful insult, Granger," Draco spat, shoving away from his seat and standing. He leaned over the table, and not wanting to feel inferior, Hermione did the same, their faces close together. His breath was hot on her face and he gave a low hiss, causing Hermione to roll her eyes.

"Honestly, you sound like an animal making those noises," She hissed in return, her lips twitching into a scowl.

"At least I don't _look _like one."

"Oh, very mature, Malfoy! I suppose you find yourself so damn clever and funny that you—"

Hermione was cut off from snipping out a heated reply to his insult by the sound of Harry clearing his throat. Both Draco and Hermione fell silent, their breathing labored as they angrily glared at one another. Harry crossed the room and stood between them, glaring at them with a sort of disappointment that pained Hermione, but more than likely didn't affect Draco at all. Knowing him, he was probably inwardly pleased that he'd upset Harry. The git.

"What is it, Potter?" Draco snapped, finally pulling away. Hermione relaxed, pulling back as well and turning to face Harry, forcing him a feigned smile. He didn't return the sentiment, instead rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.

"I don't want the two of you to take this mission lightly—" Hermione shook her head, making move to protest and claim that she wasn't going to, but Harry gave her a look that silenced her immediately. "—I know that neither one of you like the other, trust me, and that it's not going to be easy, but this is bigger than the two of you. Suck up your differences for as long as it takes to find the Hallows, get back here, and then you can go back to ripping each other's heads off. This is a _mission_, and I want it to be treated as such."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said in a rush, nodding her head fervently, which in turn caused her curls to bounce around her face wildly. She heard Draco snort at her, but decided to ignore him for now. "We'll keep you updated, and work on finding the Hallows. I promise." She gave her friend a small smile, and this time Harry returned the affection. He then turned to Malfoy, waiting expectantly.

"Don't worry, Potter, we'll take care of it," He answered coolly, and Hermione noted that it was perhaps the most mature he'd acted about this situation since first hearing of it the day before. She felt herself unhinge slightly and moved to grab her bag, snatching it off the table and holding it close.

"Hermione, did Neville give you the scrolls from the Restricted Section?"

"He did, yes—thank you, Harry, I'm sure they'll help immensely."

"Whoa, hold the fuck up here…_what _scrolls?" Draco demanded, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the both of them. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, allowing Harry to answer for fear of exploding on the pale-haired arse again.

"Neville retrieved some scrolls with information on Bellatrix's most infamous qualities—her hide-outs, her history, etc."

"What's the point in giving these to us if we're just looking for the Hallows?"

"It doesn't hurt to keep a look-out for her—you could easily walk into a trap she's got set up if you stumble across one of these hide-outs. It's more like a…a method of precaution for you and Hermione."

Draco merely nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Hermione's gaze flickered back and forth between the two of them, and when she was certain that neither one of them were going to speak again, she cleared her throat and spoke up.

"We really need to get a move on, Malfoy. I've booked us a room at a Muggle inn in Dublin to start with—under assumed names, of course—and I figure we can rest there tonight and get a move on early tomorrow morning."

"Wait…did you say _a _room? As in _one_?"

Hermione shifted awkwardly on her feet, clutching her purse tighter and clearing her throat. Oh, Merlin—so he'd noticed.

"Yes, well I—I just…I couldn't get us two rooms, alright? They were completely booked, Merlin! Just deal with it, Malfoy!" She snapped, her cheeks flushing red. She heard Draco mutter something under his breath, but she could make out little else other than, "Granger" and "frigid bitch". She doubted there was much else to the insult.

"Alright, let's just get this the fuck over with, then," Draco grumbled, pulling out his wand. Hermione nodded stiffly, reaching her hand out hesitantly. Draco scowled at the gesture but roughly jerked her arm in his own, rolling his eyes once for effect.

"Be careful, you two," was Harry's parting words, and with that, they were gone. The pull of Apparation tugged uncomfortably behind Hermione's navel, and she felt nauseas as she and Malfoy were thrown through time and space from the comfort of 12 Grimmauld Place to an alleyway in Dublin. Once they'd successfully landed, Hermione staggered slightly, pulling herself free from Draco's grip. The muggy August air slapped her in the face, and Hermione stepped into a puddle, the water sloshing around her ankle. She blinked twice, adjusting to the dim surroundings and peering for Malfoy in the dark. It shouldn't be too hard to find him, right? His pale skin should be detectable damn near anywhere.

She found him a few feet over, and made to walk over to him, making sure she still had her purse with her. He seemed to be looking around, and upon his silver eyes finding hers, he gave a gruff grunt, and Hermione raised her brows so as to inquire what he wanted. Realizing that she was the one in charge of locating their room for them, she kept her head down and her cheeks burned red. She stormed past him, peering out into the street before stepping out, noting that other than a few cars passing by on the road and the occasional couple strolling by on the sidewalk, this part of the city was mostly vacant of all people at the present time.

Hermione located the inn almost immediately—a small and quaint sort of building with a sign that indicated they were completely full. Sighing in relief, she walked inside the hotel, Draco hot on her heels. Hermione strolled through the small lobby, which she noted had a very homey appeal, before approaching the counter. She set her bag on the countertop, rummaging through it for the fake identification cards she'd made, smiling at the blonde-haired receptionist.

"I have a reservation for two, please," Hermione said sweetly, holding the cards in her hands and glancing around the establishment once. The woman pulled out a thick binder, opening it up and staring at Hermione expectantly.

"Name, please?"

"Wilson—Ian and Jane Wilson," Hermione breathed, holding out the I.D. cards for the woman to inspect. Once she had finished checking their cards for validation and sorted through the giant binder in front of her to check their names off the list, she smiled at Hermione and handed her back her cards.

"Alright, Mrs. Wilson, you and your husband's room is located in 27C—third floor, and it should be on the right. The lift is located in a corridor branched off the lobby, and your check-out time is extended to two tomorrow afternoon." She handed Hermione two room keys, which the Witch gladly took, trying not to wretch in utter repulsion at the fact that she had just been referred to as Malfoy's _wife._ Bloody disgusting.

After bidding the woman a goodnight, Hermione turned around and saw Draco's face contorted into slight disgust. Ah, so he was just as repulsed by the woman's assumption as she was. Hermione grunted a muffled, "This way" to Draco, clutching her bag close and walking through the lobby, the Malfoy Heir hot on her heels. She located the lift with ease, jabbing the button in aggravation and waiting for the elevator to screech down to the first floor. The doors opened, and she and Draco stepped inside before Hermione punched the button indicating it belonged to the third floor. She tapped her foot impatiently, practically pressing herself against the far corner of the elevator so as to put as much room between herself and Malfoy as possible, all the while insulting him in her mind.

"You're acting as jittery as a damn Chihuahua, calm the fuck down," Draco grumbled, moving to step off the lift as it came to an abrupt halt. Hermione glared at the back of his head as she followed him, wondering whether or not it would be an intelligent idea to whack him upside the head with her purse. The bag did contain several items that could be considered heavy, and—and no, no, she was going to be the mature one here.

Walking down the narrow corridor, Hermione located their room and swiped the key card, once again breathing in relief when the door slid open with ease for her. She walked inside, Malfoy following, and heard the door click behind them. She stumbled through the dark room, flipping on the switch and feeling her body relax immensely upon discovering that there was, in fact, two beds in the room.

"Thank Merlin," She whispered, moving inside and taking her shoes off. She placed them neatly next to the door, and turned around to find Draco half-heartedly kicking his shoes off. She shook her head in disapproval, walking over to the bed closest to the window and setting her bag down. She opened it, rummaging through the sack until she located a pair of pajama shorts and a shirt to match. Satisfied with her selection, she turned around and stopped short when she saw Malfoy empty his pockets, setting a shrunken trunk down on the bed and moving to pull his cotton t-shirt off his head, his pale torso becoming exposed to her gaze. Feeling very much as though she were staring at him naked, Hermione flushed and cast her gaze down at the ground, refusing to glance at the lean expanse of his toned chest.

"Malfoy, put some clothes on!" She shrieked, staring down at the bundle of clothing in her hands.

"It's just my chest, Granger, calm down," He spat in response, and out of her peripheral vision she saw him throw his shirt on the bed. "It's not like I'm walking around with my dick hanging out."

Hermione forced herself to lift her gaze, her eyes locking onto his.

"There's no need to be so vulgar, Malfoy," She said, the redness in her cheeks growing progressively worse. "Now I—I'm going to change into some _decent _clothes and you just…you just stay here."

"Alright, Granger, go put your grannie nightgown on," He snickered as she brushed past him, and Hermione gave a short growl in return. She stomped to the bathroom, nearly slamming the door shut behind her before remembering that they were staying in a public location. Closing the door, she glanced at herself once in the mirror, noting how tense she seemed already. She tugged at her cheeks for a moment before sighing, deciding that Malfoy would do no good to her health and scrambling to change into her pajamas. Once she had done so, she pulled her curly hair up into a bun and exited the bathroom, her dirty clothes bunched in her arms. Walking across the room, she saw that Malfoy was perched on the bed, leaning against the headboard with the lower portion of his body safely tucked underneath the covers.

"Please tell me you at least had the decency to keep your pants on," Hermione snapped, half-worried of his response. She glanced at him once, noting—begrudgingly, of course—that he had a rather nice upper build…for a slimy git, anyways.

"As much as it would please you to see otherwise, I'm afraid to disappoint and claim that yes, my trousers are still very much on," Draco drawled with a shrug. Hermione busied herself by stuffing her clothes into her bag, licking her lips and refraining from making a comment. She tied her bag closed and set it on the nightstand next to her own bed before she began to neatly place the pillows on the side of the bed she would not be occupying, turning the bed down.

"Shit, Granger, do you ever do something without making sure it's done carefully?" Draco asked suddenly, and Hermione straightened, the muscles in her back stiffening. She balled her hands into fists and whipped around, glaring at him.

"I'm just pulling the bed down, Malfoy, for Godric's sake," She snapped back before climbing into bed, throwing the covers over her legs aggressively. Draco snorted in response, and Hermione turned around and beat at her pillow, adjusting it before laying down on it. She reached over and switched the lamp off, enveloping the two in darkness and praying to Merlin that she'd wake up and this would all be some sort of cruel, crazy dream.

"What?" Draco asked suddenly, and Hermione inwardly groaned. "No goodnight kiss? We are, after all, married now, aren't we, Mrs. _Wilson?_"

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"Who is this _Malfoy _bloke, _Jane_ dear? Have you been cheating on me?"

Hermione, hissing in aggravation, propped herself up on her elbow and flicked the lamp on again, her heated gaze meeting a very amused Draco Malfoy's.

"Why are you always so damn impossible to deal with?" She spat suddenly, genuinely wondering why he was always such a conceited arse. The amused glimmer in Draco's eyes began to fade, but the smirk on his face remained. He gave a half-hearted shrug before plopping down on the bed and yawning.

"I prefer to look at it as charm, Granger."

"Maybe if you were charming a bloody bimbo, perhaps," Hermione muttered under her breath, lying down again. Draco arched a brow, laying on his side and looking at her, and Hermione decided she didn't wish to fall asleep with Draco bloody Malfoy's face embedded into her mind, so she switched off the lamp again and turned over, determined to ignore him.

"Goodnight, Granger," He snickered, and Hermione huffed in response.

Stupid albino arse—he was going to be the end of her sanity.

* * *

><p><strong>aN: **Hello, everyone! I'd like to thank you all for continuing to read this fic—I'm really excited about it, as you can tell, and having people take an interest in it already is great. I just wanted to make an announcement, though—at the beginning of the fic, I stated that it takes place one year and six months after the Battle at Hogwarts. I have, however, changed my mind and went back to edit that statement—it _now_ takes place one year and three months after the Battle, so the fic starts in August rather than November. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and if you could review/PM me or something of the sort and let me know what you guys thought, that'd be great xx!


	5. Draco's Wand

_Shades of Grey_

**Chapter Four: **Draco's Wand

"_So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death!"_

_- The Three Brothers_

* * *

><p>The first thing Draco heard was the patter of water drops against tile. His eyelids were heavy, yet he forced them open, blinking as he adjusted to the dim surroundings of the room in the inn. For a minute, he forgot where he was, but upon propping himself up on his elbows, he soon remembered the hell he'd landed himself in and groaned audibly. The room was still dark with the curtains drawn shut, and Draco forced himself to his feet, his eyes involuntarily flickering over to the bed next to his.<p>

Empty.

His brows knit together of their own accord, and he was once more aware of the sound of water smacking against a hard flooring. There was another sound that rose to his ears in that moment; it was gentle and…sickeningly sweet. It sounded very feminine and very soft—like a hum of sorts. Draco made his way through the room soundlessly, and by the time he'd reached the bathroom, the noises had ceased. He stood by the bathroom, hesitant on opening it, but right as he pulled away the door swung open, revealing a very wet, very shocked-looking Hermione Granger.

She shrieked immediately, wrapping the towel that covered up her feminine bits more tightly around her body. Draco let out a noise of disapproval and staggered back, and Granger whipped her head around furiously as she fumbled to shut the bathroom door, her wet and mangy mop of hair splattering him with water. He was stunned, oddly enough, to discover in the brief moments that he bore witness to his enemy in such an indecent state that she didn't lack feminine qualities, as he'd once believed. Her body curved in ways that didn't show in the over-sized clothing she normally wore, and there was something about the way the water glistened against her creamy skin that made him wonder if he'd been wrong all these years about Granger having a pre-pubescent girl's build.

He was brought back to reality by the sound of the bathroom door slamming closed once again, with Granger tucked safely inside.

"Malfoy!" She shrieked, clearly disregarding the fact that they were staying in a public location. She'd probably placed a Silencing Charm on the room, he mused…or at least he hoped.

"Yes, Granger?" Draco snickered, his lips twitching into a slight smirk. She sounded so upset…it was a delicious emotion to interpret.

"I—you—how in the hell do you—?" She seemed flustered; unable to compose even one coherent sentence, which caused Draco to laugh even harder.

"I seem to have rendered you speechless," Draco began in an amused tone. "There's no need for you to be embarrassed, Granger—while, ideally, it wasn't the sight I wished to be welcomed to upon waking up this morning, it's a comfort to know that after all these years you are, in fact, a member of the female gender. Never could tell under the rags you wore—must say, I'm quite relieved!"

Draco heard a disgruntled growl from behind the door, and what sounded as though Hermione had slapped her palm against the door—in frustration, no doubt.

"You arrogant _arse, _Malfoy!" She spat, and her insult only deepened the amount of humor he found in the situation. Didn't she understand that reacting to him so violently was extremely amusing to witness?

"Like I said, Granger, I prefer to call it charm," He yelled, stuffing his hands in his pockets and smirking at the closed door. He heard a scoff, and then rummaging around, as though she was trying to root through something.

"Just allow me to get dressed in peace, Malfoy," She snapped, and Draco stifled the urge to snort. "I—you just—you wait out on the balcony and I—I'll tell you when I'm ready!"

Draco rolled his eyes but stomped away nonetheless, mumbling under his breath about just how fucking ridiculous she was. He wasn't looking forward to them being alone together; he cringed whenever he was forced to face the fact that, unlike other missions or Order meetings he'd attended since he'd defected over a year ago, he couldn't just drag himself home at the end of the day and bitch about how insufferable they were to Astoria.

Like it or not, he was stuck with Granger. Indefinitely.

He yanked the sliding door leading to the small balcony open and stepped out, enjoying the warm August morning. The sun was halfway in the sky by now and Draco stretched his limbs, sighing and inhaling the fresh air that surrounded him. On the bright side, he noted, at least they wouldn't be confined to a small room in an inn during their entire journey. They'd be travelling all over, and he suspected most of which would involve camping, and that would mean that—

He cut off his brief string of optimism as the truth came crashing down on him, stinging as any hope of escaping her for at least a moment vanished. They only had one tent. One as in singular, as in Draco had to stay in a confined space with her that made the room at the inn seem like a mansion.

For an extended period of time.

A series of minutes passed in silence, with Draco inspecting the town below and counting his losses before he heard the sliding glass door open. He turned around, spotting a relatively conservatively-dressed Hermione Granger glaring at him. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her dark brown eyes were fixated on him with an intensity that rivaled her typically compassionate nature. He merely quirked one brow and smirked, the prospect of a challenge glimmering in his silver eyes.

"Problem, Granger?" He drawled, daring her to snap at him. He'd never pass up a promising argument with Granger; bickering was like second nature to the pair of them.

"No problem at all; the shower's yours," She snapped, turning on her heel and walking back into the hotel room. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, and Draco could practically _see _the tense muscles in her back as she moved away from him. She was dressed in a simple tank top and shorts, and as he closed the sliding glass door, Granger snatched a jacket from the bed and tugged it on, zipping it up partially.

"Should we call it even and have you come and watch me?" He snickered, walking past her. He noticed her face had turned a deep shade of red and she huffed, but before she could make a comment Draco had snatched his clothes from his trunk and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Once inside, he locked the door and set his wand on the bathroom counter, turning to look at himself in the mirror. He ran a hand through his unkempt blonde hair and noticed he had a bit of scruff along the line of his jaw. His fingers brushed against the facial hair, and he decided it would be beneficial to shave.

Blinking twice, Draco turned and made his way across the small space to the shower. He threw the curtain open and leaned in, grabbing the water spout by its handle and turning it on full force. He heard the familiar patter of water slapping against the tile floor of the shower, and soon a thin layer of steam began to envelop the small space. Draco removed his clothing, stretching once and scratching his lower abdomen before leaning a hand in to check the temperature of the water. It was scalding, and so as he stepped inside he inhaled sharply, the hot water beating at his back. He turned the heat down just a bit before leaning his head back, allowing the water that spurted from the shower head to drench his pale blonde hair and dribble down his face.

Draco wiped the water from his eyes and blinked twice, licking his lips and searching for a bottle of shampoo. He spotted a small complimentary bottle perched on the edge of the tub and scowled, cursing himself for not bringing his shampoo into the bathroom. He grabbed it and turned the bottle over, squirting a decent amount of the cream-colored soap onto his hand. He massaged his scalp and gave a soft moan of content, his fingers working wonders on his aching head. Once he'd thoroughly shampooed his hair, he made sure to rinse, his mind inevitably drifting back to the task at hand. Where were he and Granger supposed to start _looking _for the damn Hallows in the first place? The only time he'd ever even heard of them was from that book of children's stories his mother once read to him. What was that blasted thing called, anyways? The Stories of…The Tales of…The Adventures of…Shit, he couldn't remember. His father hadn't really endorsed story telling of that sort being spoken of around the house, so Draco had grown up without hearing much about the tales.

He grabbed his wash cloth and rubbed some soap on it before applying it to his body, wondering just what it was that Granger had in mind. He was quite certain, in fact, that there was a reason behind her wanting them to stay at this particular inn; perhaps there was a clue nearby that she'd already looked into? Knowing Granger, she'd already tried to map out their entire fucking mission within the twenty-four hour time span they had between learning of it and leaving for it. He rolled his eyes at the thought, grumbling his distaste for the Witch as he washed the soap off his body. Even _thinking _about the insufferable Gryffindor who was positioned in the next room infuriated him, and he jerked the faucet off, causing the water to cease.

With a scowl on his face, Draco snatched his towel from the rack and stepped out of the shower, drying himself off. He made his way over to the sink, grabbing his razor and applying a decent amount of shaving cream to his face. He contemplated the various different things he could do in order to rid himself of Granger as he shaved his face—perhaps he could "lose" her, and then complete the mission on his own? Or perhaps he would get injured and be sent back home? No, no, neither one of those seemed very convincing.

With an aggravated grunt, he tossed the razor down and washed his face off, satisfied that he hadn't nicked himself. He used to shave using magic, but ever since he'd defected into the Order, he'd learned how to do a lot of things the Muggle way, and shaving via a Muggle razor had just become habitual to him. He grabbed his neatly folded clothes and began putting them on—a pair of Muggle tan cargo shorts and a white cotton t-shirt to match. While he detested Muggle clothes on the whole, he figured it would be best to at least _wear _some during this mission for the sake of bystanders.

He smoothed down his ruffled hair and dried it with his wand before exiting the bathroom, his pajamas bundled up under one arm. He entered the main room of the small flat they'd stayed in, one brow arching when he saw Granger sitting on the bed, reading a book. She'd folded the cover over, so he couldn't read the title, and as he stuffed his old clothes in his suitcase, he nodded stiffly towards it.

"What's that?" He answered gruffly, thinking it must have something to do with their mission. Hermione looked up, slightly startled to see him there, and blinked rapidly as she tore herself away from the book. She licked her rose-tinted lips and shut the book, once more keeping the cover out of his view.

"It's just a bit of light reading," She murmured, standing up and tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. Draco shrugged slightly, idly wondering why the hell she'd brought along a _book _to read if it had nothing to do with their mission. Shouldn't she be devoting her time to finding the Hallows? He licked his lips and shrunk his case, placing it in his pocket along with his wand. He heard rustling on the bed and peered over Hermione's shoulder, watching as she neatly tucked her belongings inside that queer clutch of hers.

"So, what the hell are we even _doing _here, Granger?" He asked suddenly, unable to contain his curiosity. Hermione stiffened and turned to look at him, an odd and unidentifiable look encompassing her eyes. He nearly questioned her on it, but the desire to know why she'd dragged him all the way out here on their first day was far too great.

"We're going to visit someone," She replied curtly.

"How vague, Granger. Honestly, you'd think someone who spends so much damn time talking would have come up with a better response than that. I guess I'll have to walk you through it, won't I? Now, _who _are we seeing?"

"Ollivander," She snapped, her chest heaving with suppressed anger. Draco's brows furrowed together and his lips tugged into a slight pout. Ollivander, as in…

"The wand maker? But _why_? Isn't he located in Diagon Alley?" Draco blurted out, confusion clouding his features. Hermione sighed in exasperation, as though his ignorance of the whereabouts of the old wand maker somehow made him incompetent. To her, it more than likely did.

"_Because_," She began curtly, stressing the syllables. "After the conclusion of the War, Ollivander relocated to a small shop around here; he claimed that being around Diagon Alley after everything that had happened during the War was too much for him to handle, so now he makes and sells specialty wands. Honestly, don't you read _The Daily Prophet_? His statement about relocating was issued months ago!"

Draco could practically hear the resentment and disappointment dripping from the tip of her tongue, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes, growing more agitated with the Mudblood by the minute.

"Pardon me for not wishing to read about everyone I was once acquainted with being sentenced to Azkaban," Draco snarled before he could stop himself. He clamped his mouth shut, his silver eyes burning with ferocity as he held her gaze. He'd never admitted that to anyone before; not even Astoria. He figured it would make him look weak, somehow, and decided it would be best to internalize such thoughts. Granger gazed at him curiously, her nostrils flaring as her eyes narrowed into slits.

"Then perhaps you should stop acquainting yourself with such individuals," She snapped, grabbing her clutch off the bed and storming over to the nightstand. She snatched the room keys and headed out the door in a huff, and in Draco's agitation he made sure his shrunken trunk was placed in his pocket and followed. His brows were creased together and he glared at the back of Hermione's head as she walked, praying to Merlin that his menacing glare could somehow burn a hole through the back of her bushy head.

It didn't.

They made their way to the lift, and Hermione punched the elevator button with aggression. They stepped into the small space, and once more made sure to maintain as much space as possible from one another. He noticed that Granger seemed irritated, with her arms folded under her breasts and her jaw set. _Good, _He thought to himself bitterly. At least he wasn't the only one in a pissy mood today.

He followed Granger's lead towards what he supposed was a dining portion of the inn. It was located in a room that branched off of the main lobby, and Hermione walked over to a booth and set her clutch down, turning to face Draco and tugging a hair behind her ear.

"It's no use if we go into this on empty stomachs," Hermione explained practically, her eyes scanning the eating area. Draco noticed there were several carts of hot and cold food set out, and his lips tugged into a slight frown. Where were the waiters?

As if she could spot his concern, Granger cleared her throat and began to speak once more.

"The inn's restaurant is set up sort of like a buffet, Malfoy," She explained begrudgingly, using her hand to gesture towards the foot stacked up on the carts. "You go and get your _own _food. Think you can manage?"

She quirked one brow in his direction and Draco scowled, shoving past her and towards the line of food. He grabbed a plate and searched the lines of food, dishing out a helping of scrambled eggs for himself with a side of bacon and a biscuit. He grabbed himself a bottle of water and made his way back over to the booth, noticing that Granger had already managed to get herself a plate of food—a bowl of fruit, some oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice.

Draco picked up his fork and stabbed at the eggs, lifting the fluffy yellow egg bits to his lips and chewing thoughtfully. He watched Hermione curiously as she daintily picked up a fork and used it to pick at a grape, lifting the speared fruit to her mouth and chewing slowly. She refused to meet his gaze, clearing her throat and reaching to take a sip of her juice whenever she appeared to feel far too uncomfortable in his presence.

"You never answered the first part of my question, Granger," He blurted out suddenly, his gaze locking onto her. Hermione lifted her brown eyes from the food in front of her and her brows furrowed, her lips tugging into a slight pout as she struggled to remember what it was he'd even asked her.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow…"

"Why," He continued, nodding his head and forking another bit of egg into his mouth. "I asked why we're going to see Ollivander. What do you think we'll gain from this interaction? Is he supposed to give you something, or—?" Draco trailed off, hoping she'd fill in the blanks. Her eyes took on that queer ferocity once more, and Draco decided it must've been a Gryffindor thing. A lust for adventure, perhaps? He shrugged slightly, noticing that she had leaned across the table slightly.

"During the War," Hermione began in a low voice, scooting her bowl of oatmeal towards her. She scooped up a spoonful and blew on it, her eyes sliding up to lock onto his. "Harry, Ron, and I spoke with Ollivander exclusively about wandlore. We discussed the Elder Wand with him, and even questioned him about the Hallows—he'd never heard of it at the time, or at least that's what he claimed." She paused, brushing a curly strand of hair out of her face and spooning the oatmeal into her mouth. Draco took this time to nibble on his bacon, enthralled in what she had to say.

"He gave us some really useful information, so I wanted to go back and see if he had anything else he could add, or maybe—or maybe refresh my memory," She mumbled with a sigh, shrugging slightly and taking another bite of her oatmeal. Draco nodded his head slowly, processing everything as he bit into his bacon once more. So, Ollivander knew of The Elder Wand? Draco should've supposed as much—he was a serious wand maker who descended from a family dedicated to the business. The Elder Wand must've been something often spoken of during his lifetime.

"Do you think he would know the making of the Elder Wand? Like its core?" Draco asked, his brows furrowing together slightly. Hermione's face scrunched up as she evidently struggled to remember whether or not he'd mentioned anything to her and the other two twats of the Golden Trio, but she clearly had no answer.

"I don't know."

The conversation fell silent after that, with nothing but the hum of couples around them and the scraping of eating utensils against bowls and plates to fill their silence. It was a decent meal, Draco noted, and he accepted the fact that it would probably be the best he'd receive in quite a while once he and Granger were stuck in the wilderness alone together. Again, he shuddered at the thought, suddenly nauseas. He pushed his plate of food to the side, completely stuffed, and noticed that Hermione had already finished her food and was fishing around in her purse. She pulled out the key cards and jerked her head towards the lobby. Draco nodded and stood up, following her away from the kitchen and towards the front desk. There was a different woman at the desk now—a pretty raven-haired girl with a toothy smile plastered on her face as Draco and Hermione approached the desk.

"Hello! Checking out?" She questioned, pulling out the same large black binder that the woman the night before had. Hermione confirmed that yes, they were, and held the key cards tightly in her hand as the woman searched for their names.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson," She said with a smile, turning over to the computer in front of her and typing furiously. She tore her eyes away from the screen after a few moments, eyeing them closely.

"How long have you two been married?" She questioned cheerfully, standing and smoothing the black work skirt she had on. Draco resisted the urge to wretch in repulsion, merely remaining silent and blinking twice, leaving the conversation to a very red-faced Hermione.

"Oh, not very—not very long," She breathed, forcing a tight smile and holding the hand that held the key cards in it out to the woman. The clerk took the cards, her eyes grazing over Hermione's third finger and frowned slightly, evidently displeased and confused by the fact that _Mrs. Wilson _wasn't wearing a ring. Hermione ignored the woman's suspicions, wringing her hands together and forcing a tight smile whenever she could. The woman frowned, turning to Draco and Hermione after checking their bill on her computer.

"It says you rented a room with _two _beds, is the system incorrect? I would assume that—" The woman asked, her lack of couth in the situation nearly enough to make Draco vomit. Honestly, did she just assume that all married couples slept together? Well, traditionally most of them did, and Granger and he weren't married, but…oh, fuck it.

Deciding that he could gain some amusement from this situation, Draco licked his lips and opened his mouth, preparing to speak.

"My wife and I fuck so roughly that we need two beds," Draco drawled in a monotone voice, his lips twitching into a smirk as he refused to meet Hermione's gaze. "We apologize for the broken beds—one just wasn't enough."

The look on the clerk's face informed Draco that she was more than ready to keep her mouth shut from that moment on. Aghast, she quickly averted her gaze to the binder in front of her, successfully checking Hermione and Draco out. He continued to ignore what was sure to be mortification and anger raging on Granger's face, deciding he could deal with the inevitable later.

It wasn't until the pair had exited the inn and were halfway down the street that Hermione dared to say anything to him. She spun around, glaring at him hotly as her nostrils flared. Draco could practically _feel _the anger radiating off of her, and he watched as her cheeks tinged a deep pink.

"What the bloody hell is your problem, Malfoy?" She snapped, her lips lifting into what Draco could only suppose was a snarl. "There was no need to—no need to embarrass me—_us_—in such a fashion!"

"I believe you were the only one who was embarrassed, Granger."

"That's not the point! It was crude and—and unnecessary!"

"The woman was making naïve assumptions; I simply put her in her place."

Hermione gave a huff of annoyance and stamped her foot, an action that stripped Granger of all of the sophistication and maturity she struggled so hard to maintain around him.

"Well just—you just—ugh! Just cut it out!" Hermione spat out, turning hotly on her heel and storming forward. Whatever argument she'd built against him seemed to have died out in her current state of fury, and Draco merely shrugged before following her. Fine by him—it wasn't as if he _needed _to hear her incessantly bitch.

They walked in silence for what seemed like ages, Draco following Hermione's lead. Everyone once in a while, she would make a sharp left or veer right, and following her was soon enough turning into some kind of ridiculous fucking game. After walking for damn near twenty minutes, Granger stopped and gave a soft, audible gasp. She cast her gaze towards a small building on the corner of the street, and Draco turned to look in kind. They'd stopped in front of a small wooden shack, with a large sign that read "Ollivander's" in peeling yellow lettering. Grinning to herself, Hermione turned around to glare at Draco, obviously pleased that she had found the location of his shop.

"Just let me do all the talking," She said in a bossy tone, jutting her chin forward in defiance. "I'm sure Ollivander won't be too keen to see _you _in his shop, given the circumstances in which you last saw him."

Draco had prepared to argue, but realized she was correct. He hadn't seen Ollivander since the old wandmaker had been imprisoned in his parents' house during the second War, and the Malfoy Heir doubted that the old man would be pleased upon seeing him. Draco gave a stiff nod and mumbled an insult under his breath, following Hermione into the establishment.

The small shop had a musty sort of scent, and Draco noticed the collecting dust on the shelves stuffed with wands galore. It reminded him slightly of the Ollivander's _he'd _known, though undoubtedly this one seemed a lot cozier. It was smaller, and as Hermione strolled up to the counter and cleared her throat, waiting for the elderly man to appear, Draco allowed his gaze to fall over the wide and tall stacks of wands that were tucked neatly into cubbies or on top of shelves.

After a few moments of silence, Draco heard what appeared to be soft footsteps shuffling against the creaking floorboards of the shop. He tore his eyes away from a shelf with wands in favor of watching as Ollivander appeared from what looked like a hidden compartment in the back of the store. His snow white hair was just as wild as Draco had remembered it, and the scruff on his face mixed with the dull look in his glassy eyes gave way to cause Draco to believe that the old man hadn't slept well recently. He looked up and stopped, spotting Draco and Hermione standing by the counter. He glanced at Draco nervously, wringing his hands together with the old rag he held in his grip before his gaze shifted to Hermione, to whom he gave a slight smile.

"Hermione Granger," He rasped, in a tired sort of voice that revealed a certain amount of turmoil that the aged man must've seen in his long life. "What brings you to my shop?"

Hermione gave the old man a warm smile; the genuine kind that broadened across her face. The kind that made Draco wretch in repulsion.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione began quietly, placing her clutch on the counter and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "The shop looks lovely—are you enjoying it here?"

Ollivander licked his lips, his hands trembling slightly as he moved to wipe off what appeared to be a scuff mark from his counter, nodding slowly.

"It's nice to be up and running again—the location is a bit more…destitute than I'd hoped, but I manage alright," Ollivander replied, giving her a sad smile. Be it paranoia or not, but Draco could've sworn that the old wandmaker cast Draco a sly and disapproving glare before fixating his gaze once more on his bushy-haired partner.

"Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Granger?" Ollivander questioned again, staring at her curiously. Hermione gave a tight smile, looking around the shop and evidently attempting to decide how to approach the subject.

"Well actually, I was wondering if you could help my partner and I—" She paused, jabbing a finger in Draco's direction. "—on official Order business." She leaned forward, practically whispering the last bit. Ollivander seemed shocked, though Draco couldn't ascertain why—was it because they had arrived on Order business, or because of who everyone's beloved _Hermione Granger's_ partner was?

"Alright," Ollivander began uncertainly. He plucked his glasses from the counter and perched them on the edge of his nose, folding his hands together and appearing far more engaged in their discussion than he had been previously. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm not sure whether or not you recall, sir, but during the second Wizarding War, after we aided in your release from Malf—from your imprisonment," Hermione began, correcting herself and avoiding using Draco's surname. "But we spoke to you; well, Harry most specifically, inquiring about—"

"You wish to know about the Elder Wand," Ollivander finished for her. It was not a question. Hesitantly, Hermione nodded, playing with the strap of her clutch absentmindedly.

"I take it you don't recollect much of what I told Mr. Potter about it before?"

Hermione shook her head slowly, obviously embarrassed for having forgotten such important information. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Alright," Ollivander said with a sigh. He grabbed a nearby stool and brought it over to the counter, propping himself up on it and resting the rag that had been clutched in his hands on the counter. "What do you wish to know?"

"Just to uhm—just to clarify, sir, the wand has to be…it has to be passed to another through murder, correct? The predecessor has to be killed before the Wand's allegiance will bend?"

Ollivander paused, musing over her question for a few moments before replying.

"In theory? Yes. However, its allegiance will bend to the more powerful Wizard—murder is by no means a necessity, merely the means by which most people acquire it." He paused, his gaze passing over Draco, and the young Malfoy felt himself stiffen considerably. The way the old crackpot kept passing quick glances in his direction made him uneasy, and Draco's brows furrowed together in confusion and apprehension.

"So—so if someone found the wand without rightfully winning it, they won't be able to use the wand correctly, right?" Hermione asked hopefully, slightly breathless. Much to their dismay, Ollivander shook his head glumly.

"The possessor still be able to use it, of course, and if my suspicions are correct—which I assume they are—then the possessor will have no knowledge of the rule of allegiance. The wand will work for them, just as it did with V—_You-Know-Who_, but it won't work to the best of its ability."

Hermione fell silent, nibbling on her lower lip. Draco caught Ollivander eyeing him again and huffed, growing more aggravated by the second.

"Is there something you're looking at?" Draco snapped, his lip curling into a slight snarl. He tapped his foot impatiently, and Ollivander merely stared at him for a second more before once more focusing on Hermione. Figures he wouldn't answer him. Hermione shot Draco a haughty glare, which caused the pale-haired boy to merely grumble and scowl.

"Have there ever been cases where the owner of the wand wasn't considered a threat?" Hermione continued, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.

"Anyone who possesses the wand is a threat—a threat to others; a threat to himself. It's dangerous to possess that much magic, and many don't know how to use it. The wand's core is Thestral-hair, so it's not one that is commonly found, of course."

Hermione merely nodded, clearing her throat before continuing. "Is there an age restriction on the wand? Does someone have to reach a particularly…advanced stage of Wizardry or a certain age to be qualified to possess it?"

A wry smile stretched across Ollivander's face, one that made Draco both curious and ill to watch. He felt antsy suddenly, and stuffed his hands deep within the confines of his pockets. He felt the handle of his wand, and his thumb brushed across the wood in a comforting manner.

"The youngest possessor, I believe, was but a boy—sixteen years old."

Hermione's eyes widened considerably, and Draco's brows furrowed together. Sixteen? Could Ollivander possibly be correct? No, no, the old man had to be losing his fucking marbles—there was no way that the most powerful wand known could've been won by a sixteen year old boy. It was impossible!

Granger seemed taken aback and frantically began searching the shop, her hazel eyes flickering over Ollivander's inventory. She appeared to be searching for something—such as a question to pose or something of the sort. Draco himself was fixated on Ollivander, and the queer look that the man was giving him.

"Draco Malfoy," The elder man said suddenly in that raspy and aged voice of his, and Draco arched one brow in response, waiting for the loon to continue. "Precisely ten inches, I believe; made of Hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core. Reasonably springy. Am I correct?"

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, stiffening considerably. Granger had torn her attention away from the room, now staring at Ollivander with just as much burning curiosity as Draco was. What was the crackpot getting at, exactly?

"Was there ever a time, Mr. Malfoy, in which your wand did not seem quite so _in tune _with you? As though you had betrayed it in favor of another?" Ollivander inquired, growing quite interested. Draco tried to reflect back on a time when his wand had behaved in such a fashion—which, of course, was fucking ridiculous; wands couldn't _behave _queerly…could they? It wasn't as if they had—as if they had _emotions_, or something of the sort.

However, upon reflection, Draco was able to distinctly recall a time in the weeks following the fall of Albus Dumbledore in which his wand had, in fact, acted odd. It wouldn't quite work correctly all the time, and it had scared the shit out of him. He'd thought, for a brief period of time, that it had simply stopped working. That it was broken, somehow. But now? His eyes flickered down to his pocket, where the wand resided, and he realized his wand hadn't reacted to him in such a way for so long.

"It's fine," He said flatly, his lips pressed into a tight line. They hadn't come here to talk about _him_; they'd come to discuss the Elder Wand.

"Interesting," was all the wandmaker could say in response.

Ollivander shrugged slightly, seeming as though he was finished with the discussion for the time being. He stood, removing the stool from its place near the counter and placing it next to one of the shelves stuffed with wands. He picked up his rag again and walked over to one of the shelves, intently brushing the particles of dust off of it. He suddenly looked far too busy for company, and Hermione stared after him curiously.

"I—err—well thank you, Mr. Ollivander, but my partner and I should really be going now," Hermione babbled, and Draco could tell from the inflection in her voice that she suddenly felt far too uncomfortable in this situation. He didn't blame Granger, exactly—it was all very odd. Perhaps the War had finally destroyed the old loon. Ollivander said nothing in response, and Hermione jerked her head towards the doorway. Draco exhaled in relief, following her through the shop towards the exit. It wasn't until they'd reached the door that Ollivander coughed, and upon impulse both Draco and Hermione turned to face him.

"It's interesting, Miss Granger, that you should come to me about the Elder Wand," Ollivander said quietly, but his voice carried through the empty shop. "When the youngest known possessor of such a wand is already in your acquaintance."

Hermione's brows furrowed together and her lips tugged into a slight pout, and she appeared as though she were trying very hard to think of the once-sixteen-year-old who had apparently owned the wand at some point.

"Who?" She asked finally, evidently giving up on trying to remember. Ollivander's lips curled into a slight knowing smile, and his glassy eyes trailed over and rested on Draco's.

"Draco Malfoy."

* * *

><p><strong>aN:** Hello, everyone! I apologize that it's taken me a while to update—this chapter's a bit longer than they usually are, and between being sick and school, I just haven't had time to complete it! It's up now, obviously, and I hope you all enjoy it! As far as I can recollect, it was unstated in the books as to whether or not Draco was intelligent of the fact that he had once been the possessor of the Elder Wand, so I used that to my advantage in this chapter. As always, read/review/enjoy! Thanks!


	6. Comfort Zones

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Five: **Comfort Zones

"_We cannot become what we want to be by remaining what we are."_

_- Max Depree_

* * *

><p>Hermione gazed at the pale-haired Wizard next to her, eyes widened and mouth hanging ajar. The words that had just drifted out of Ollivander's mouth shocked her, and she found herself wondering why Harry hadn't made her privy to the knowledge that Draco had once been the possessor of the Elder Wand. Furthermore, why hadn't <em>Draco<em>?

"You knew, didn't you?" She accused in a low hiss, expecting the worst of her partner. Much to her dismay, she noted that he seemed just as baffled as she—perhaps even more so. He managed to shake his head and she huffed, her eyes turning back to where Ollivander had stood. She blinked twice when her eyes rested on nothing but empty air, scanning the shop closely before realizing that the old man had seemingly vanished.

Growing frantic, Hermione grabbed Draco by the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside of the shop, leading them to a deserted alley. He shoved her aside and grunted, smoothing his shirt and scowling at her for wrinkling the material in the first place.

"What the fuck is your issue?" He spat, his chest heaving slightly. Hermione resisted the impulse to roll her eyes and snap at him for asking such an idiotic question but refrained, her hands twitching at her side. She lifted a hand and brushed back a strand of curly hair, biting on her bottom lip slightly.

"How did you come to be in possession of the Elder Wand, Draco?"

"I told you: _I didn't even know I owned it_," He growled, clearly irritated that she was pressing the matter. But it was important! If they didn't figure out the specifics of the wand, they might not ever find it, and then their mission would result in failure! And failure wasn't an option for Hermione Granger; not under any circumstances.

"I don't recall you ever saying those exact words, no," Hermione sniffed, jutting her chin forward in defiance. If he was going to be difficult about this, then so was she—two could easily play at that game.

"Well I don't know, alright?" He snapped in response, rolling his eyes heavily in her direction. She mustered the strength to narrow her eyes into vicious daggers at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line. He was testing her and they both knew it.

"How could someone be in possession of the most powerful wand in existence and not even _know it_, Draco?"

"I already told you, Granger—I don't fucking know," Draco spat, clearly irritated with her persistent questioning about the subject.

Hermione rolled her tongue around on the inside of her mouth, exhaling slowly. Her hands twitched in anger at her sides and she balled them into fists, resisting the impulse to knock him upside the face, just like she had third year.

"Just—stop being so impossible!" She snapped, her brows furrowing together. So far they knew that the Wand had belonged to Draco at some point, and while that didn't leave them with much information, Hermione found the gears in her mind frantically at work to plan the next step. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly as an idea struck her, and she fumbled around in her charmed bag before she pulled out a crinkled map. She smoothed the parchment out and opened it up, biting her lip and allowing her eyes to scan over the page. Her index finger trailed across the dotted lines that were designed to represent streets and avenues, and when she located a small building on the corner of a street a few blocks away, she let out an audible gasp.

"That's it!" She exclaimed, shoving the map in Draco's face and smiling ecstatically. The bushy-haired former Gryffindor pulled her wand out of her purse and closed her eyes, focusing on the advanced charms she'd learned in her later years at Hogwarts—from the dozens of different tomes for advanced Wizardry she'd checked out from the library, of course!

"What is it?" Draco demanded, though Hermione was so worked up she barely heard him. She busied herself with charming her hair a light blonde, and then changed her eyes to a striking green. She then made a few other alterations to her appearance, such as making her lips a tad more plump and increasing the size of her nose. By the time she was finished, little remained of Hermione Granger. She fluffed her newly blonde, straight locks before stuffing her wand in her pocket. Years of training and education scolded Hermione for doing something so foolish—everyone knew that tucking your wand in your pocket was dangerous; one could easily harm themselves that way! However, she forgave herself under the premise that there wasn't much else she could do in such a situation.

"I don't know how I didn't think of it before, really," Hermione exclaimed, smiling eagerly and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Think of _what, _Granger?" Draco snapped suddenly, clearly infuriated that she was lost in her own little world. Hermione blinked twice, having temporarily forgotten he was there, and cleared her throat, snatching the map she'd pulled out back.

"Well, wandmakers can't be the only ones that know the history and composition of wands and wandlore, now can they?" Hermione began, arching one fair brow. Draco stared at her in confusion for a moment, his silver eyes narrowed slightly as he struggled to comprehend the meaning behind her words.

"I…suppose not," He stated finally, the words dripping from his tongue long and slow.

"Right, well—there's a bookstore a few blocks down, and I'm sure they'll have some more information on the Elder Wand—or wands in general, at the very least!—inside," Hermione explained, her arms flailing around slightly.

"A bookstore?" Draco frowned.

"It's sort of…well, I suspect it's like Flourish and Blott's. Though, judging by this map—" She paused to study the map in front of her, frowning slightly before clearing her throat. "—it's a bit smaller and lesser known. It's glamoured, though, soMuggles won't be able to see it as it is. Like St. Mungo's, I suspect! In fact, when I researched this location, I read somewhere that in the early 1800's, this book shop was originally founded with the premise of—"

"Granger, this isn't a fucking History of Magic lesson, can you shut up and move on with the plan?" Draco snapped, rolling his eyes dramatically. Hermione managed to glare at him, gritting her teeth in silence before she dared to respond, for fear a hex would tumble past her lips and into his range.

"And what's with the change in appearance? Now is hardly the time for the makeover you should've gotten done ages ago; you look more like a girl now than I think you ever have, Granger," Draco commented dryly, arching one brow and glancing her up and down once. Hermione felt herself flush with anger and shame, his words igniting a fire within her. Before she was able to stop herself, the young Witch stepped forward and raised her palm, slapping Draco across the face. The harsh sound echoed around the alleyway, and Hermione felt her palm sting with the impact of the blow.

"Don't you _ever _talk to me like that again," She hissed, her voice shaking as she fought back the urge to scream and cry. "You don't get to make me feel inferior for the way I look or who I am anymore, Malfoy! You're not allowed to hold that power over me anymore!"

If he was angered by her little outburst, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, far little aside from astonishment dawned on Draco's face—his eyes widened and his brows furrowed together, as though he was genuinely shocked by her explosion. And perhaps he was, but Hermione had little time to focus on that at present. She brought her hand down to her side, her cheeks blazing a deep red as she cleared her throat, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"I don't want us to be spotted buying such books in public, so it would be wise to charm yourself," She sniffed, turning around. The Witch folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips together in a thin line, staring intently at the brick wall that stood opposite from her. She heard Malfoy fumble around with what she supposed was his wand in silence, and after a few moments of patient waiting she turned around to see the finished product. He was stowing his wand away, and Hermione noted that he had charmed his hair a light brown and changed his eyes to a dark brown; she hardly recognized him, and decided that his charm job had been quite suitable.

"Right then, let's go," She said coldly, lifting the map up and finding their current location. She jabbed at the paper with an index finger and began to walk, brows knit together and lips parted slightly. She mumbled street names to herself, with nothing but the hum of her own voice and the scuffling of Draco's shoes as he walked behind her to distract her from reaching their destination. She veered left and padded past a few intimidating looking buildings, making a sharp right here and a zigzag there. She finally approached an establishment relatively close in size to the building Ollivander now called his wand shop, halting abruptly. She tore her eyes from the map, folding the paper up and stuffing it back in her purse. Though quite small, the bookshop seemed more modern and well-kept than Ollivander's new wand shop did, and Hermione's chest beamed with confidence and hope as she strode forward, throwing her shoulders back.

The sign above the door read, "Lady Lucas' Books for Wizards and Witches", and Hermione pushed open the door, stepping inside the quaint shop and hearing Draco clang the door shut behind them. The bookstore was cozy, and Hermione smiled faintly as she looked around, greedily inhaling the scent of fresh parchment and aged leather. There was something intriguing and exciting about entering a bookstore, and Hermione began searching up and down the aisle nearest to her right, hoping she could find at least one book dedicated to wandlore.

It wasn't until she'd been browsing for a good five minutes that she realized Draco was no longer standing by her.

"Hey, over here," He called out, and Hermione ushered towards him. She watched as he pointed to a sign that hung above one aisle that read, "The History and Practice of Wandmaking". He arched one brow and Hermione eagerly began perusing the dozens of shelves packed with new and ancient-looking tombs, her index finger running along the spines of the books. Draco cleared his throat and bent down, pulling a thick book bound in aged brown leather out from one of the lower shelves and turning it around for her to read the gold lettering on the cover.

"_A Modern History of Powerful Wands and Their Owners," _She read to herself, reaching a hand out and taking the book from Draco. She flipped open the Table of Contents and skimmed the words, smiling brightly when she noted there was a particular section dedicated to the Elder Wand and its origin.

"Perfect," she breathed, biting her lip and holding the book under her arm. Her eyes continued to scan the aisles, but she couldn't seem to find anything useful. There were texts on the history of wandmakers, the different kinds of cores, short stories for children—just as she was about to give up, Hermione paused, squinting as she spotted a thin and red bound book hiding at the top of one of the shelves. She stood on the tips of her toes and jumped for it, coming down and reading the cover: _The Tale of the Three Brothers—A Thorough Investigation of the Children's Tale._

_ Clearly not __**that **__thorough, _Hermione thought to herself grimly, noting the small size of the book. Either way, she decided it was appropriate, and motioned for Draco to follow her to the register. She placed both books down with a cheery smile on her face, swaying slightly and ringing the bell for assistance. A plump woman with frizzy brown hair and a genuine smile waddled up to the front of the store, her half-mooned spectacles sliding down her nose in a fashion that reminded Hermione of Dumbledore or McGonagall.

"Did you find everything alright, dears?" The woman asked airily, smiling as she took the books from the counter and turned them over. Hermione nodded and responded that yes, they had, placing her purse on the counter and opening it, finding her small change clutch and pulling it out. She watched with interest as the woman scanned their books with her wand, adding up the total for them.

"No one ever seems to drift down that aisle anymore, I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to get any attention," The woman commented, and Hermione noticed that the name tag on her blazer read, "Martha".

"Really?" Hermione asked, leaning forward over the counter slightly. Martha seemed busy looking over a parchment of pricings, adjusting her glasses and not paying much attention to either one of them.

"Oh, yes—we only made it an addition to the store a few months ago, after an organization came in demanding to know where we kept our books on wand elements and cores," The woman replied, humming to herself and pulling out what appeared to be a register full of change.

"An organization, you say?" Hermione asked, her ears perking up suddenly. She felt Draco tense slightly beside her, and she could tell that he'd picked up on the peculiarity of the situation just as she had.

"Yes—a Guild of sorts, I think. I figured they were all in the business of wandlore, but found it peculiar that they didn't seem to know much about the cores. Either way, there hasn't been much attention since…" The woman sighed, her gaze drifting off to the section on wands that Hermione and Draco had been scanning only moments before. Something seemed…_off _about what the woman was saying. If the people who had come in looking for books on wands had, in fact, been apprentices or descendants of a line of wandmakers, then there would be no doubt that they should've previously obtained such basic information.

So if they weren't a Guild of Wandmakers or something of the sort, then who _were _they? Could it be that Bellatrix and some of her followers had been here months before? Had they stalked the very same shelves and sought the very same information she and Draco were only just now after? The thought was unsettling, and before Hermione could delve deeper, she was brought back to reality by the sound of Draco clearing his throat.

"Eight Sickles, please," The woman said, and the inflection in her tone revealed that she had already repeated herself once. Hermione blushed and murmured and apology, fishing out the appropriate amount of money and stuffing it in the woman's hands. Hermione took the books and placed them in her bag, grabbing her purse off the counter and bidding her farewell to the friendly woman behind the counter.

It wasn't until they'd walked down a few blocks in silence and had changed back into their normal selves, with Hermione's head bent as she struggled to read between the lines of what the employee at the bookshop had unwittingly revealed to them, that she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and snatched her wand from her pocket, whirling around and pressing it into the throat of—of—

Draco.

"Oh, it's you," She said coolly, dropping her wand and glaring at him. She was still slightly put out over what he'd said to her earlier, as childish and immature as she knew it was. However, the fact of the matter was that Hermione had spent so long struggling to put her mind at ease over such miniscule details, such as the fact that she had bushy hair and buck teeth. People like Draco made it their goal to make her appear inferior, and once she'd gained the appropriate amount of self-confidence on the matter, Hermione herself had realized how ridiculous it was to even concern herself with such things. No, her teeth hadn't been perfectly straight or shaped when she was an adolescent, and no, her hair wasn't easy to manage, but since when had physical attributes meant so much to her? She was a Gryffindor—the brightest of her year, and she'd be damned if she was going to let something as ridiculous as hair or teeth dictate the way she felt about herself.

"Yes, it's me," Draco responded, snapping Hermione from her thoughts. She cleared her throat and jerked her shoulder away from his touch, as though she feared the mere contact would scorch her skin.

"Well, what do you want?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Granger, we've spent half the day wandering around this bloody town, and I just—"

"Look, Malfoy," Hermione cut him off, taking a step back to give herself some space. "You didn't have to agree to go on this mission—you could've easily told Harry no, and I'm sure he would have found a more suitable replacement."

Draco's face grew cold instantly, and his gaze was so fierce and piercing that Hermione felt a chill pass through her body.

"I was just going to suggest wet set up camp, soon—before it gets too dark."

Hermione felt herself pale considerably with shame and clutched her purse closer to her person, clearing her throat and swaying on her feet.

"Right then—let's go," She managed, holding her arm out and motioning for him to stand next to her. After glaring at her for a series of moments he stepped forward, yanking her close and allowing her to lead the way.

Hermione closed her eyes and imagined the Forest of Dean the way it had been the last time she'd visited it—while she, Harry, and Ron were on the run. The memories flooded her mind and she swallowed heavily, Disapparating them to the appropriate spot. She felt the familiar tug of Apparation behind her navel, and she and Malfoy were soon standing in the middle of the forest she had grown to know quite well not very long ago. She staggered slightly as they landed, looking around and recognizing the forest for its vegetation almost instantly.

"Where the bloody hell are we, Granger?" Draco snapped, and his inquiry contrasted greatly against the softer, gentler way that Harry had posed a very similar question not so very long ago.

"The Forest of Dean—Harry, Ron, and I stayed here for a bit during the months that led up to the Battle," Hermione explained, setting her things down quickly. Draco watched her curiously as she fished her wand out of her pocket and walked several feet ahead. She lifted her hands, one of which grasped her wand firmly, and allowed the crease between her brows to settle as she struggled to place the appropriate enchantments on their camping grounds.

"_Protego Totalum, Salvio Hexia…_" Hermione began, the protective enchantments she'd used so often during her times camping with the boys rising to her mind almost instantly. She worked her way around the campsite slowly, completely oblivious to anything and everything but the spells she was uttering. It wasn't until she'd finished her spellwork and turned around did she notice that Malfoy had rifled through her bag and found the tent, and was working on magically building it. She was struck between the curiosity to know why he was willingly aiding her in setting up camp and swatting him for going through her bag, finally deciding she'd already hit him enough for one day.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, striding forward and tucking her wand away. She crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at him, watching as he fixed the tent for them. He slowly turned to look at her, his face devoid of any real emotion.

"Clearly I was setting the tent up," He bit back in retort, his upper lip curling into a half-hearted scowl.

"Good."

"Great."

They stared at one another in silence for several moments, Hermione scuffing her shoe against the ground, unsure how to broach the subject of dinner. They needed nutrition to get them through the night, and she clutched at the fabric of her shirt when her stomach growled. They hadn't eaten since breakfast, and nightfall was soon upon them.

"You're hungry," Draco noted, jerking his chin forward slightly. Hermione said nothing in response, merely brushed past him and scooped up her bag.

"I have some cereal bars for us for tonight," She said coolly, sitting down on a stump of wood and rifling through her bag.

"Lovely," Draco replied, and she could hear the sarcasm dripping from his words. Hermione clenched her jaw shut, hissing slightly in anger at how _unbearable _he could be. She heard what appeared to be grunts and the scraping of bark and lifted her head, watching as Malfoy tossed bits of firewood from a nearby fallen tree on top of one another. She watched him in mild fascination, one hand shoved deep within the confines of her bag. Her lips were parted and her tongue stuck out slightly as Malfoy stood erect, pulling his wand out of his pocket and pointing it towards the fire, igniting the bundle of wood immediately. He'd laid out two uneven logs for them to sit on, and Hermione sheepishly made her way over to him.

"What's the meaning of all of this?" She sniffed, sitting down delicately. Draco sighed in exasperation and sat on the bit of wood across from her, using a long twig to poke the roaring orange flames that blazed before them.

"I'm not completely useless, Granger."

"Yes, well…that's yet to be determined."

She decided it was a trick of the light flickering off his face; a game her mind was playing with her due to the lack of decent sleep she'd received recently, but Hermione could've sworn in that instant she saw a slight smile lift on the corner of his lips. She blinked and looked away, watching as the sun disappeared from the sky, leaving the two partners enveloped in a chilly state of twilight. Hermione shivered slightly and pulled herself closer to the fire, finally retrieving the two cereal bars and tossing one to Malfoy. He caught it instantly, inspecting its wrapping closely.

"It's not poisoned, you know," She defended, unwrapping her own and pausing. She found watching him to be quite fascinating; a game of sorts, almost, and the thought that he more than likely hadn't spent much time outside his pampered and manicured world of luxury brought a smile to her lips.

"What's so funny, Granger?" He demanded, ripping the bar open and bringing it to his lips.

"Nothing, nothing," She said quickly, lifting the bar to her lips. She bit off a piece and chewed in silence, exhaling slowly. It tasted delicious on her empty stomach and Hermione chewed thoughtfully, her hazel eyes absorbing the dancing flames before her. She became transfixed by the way the fire seemed to dance as it licked up the logs, and she rested her elbows on her knees, taking another nibble of her bar.

"Why did you get so offended earlier?" Draco asked suddenly, and Hermione tore her eyes away from the fire to catch him staring at her.

"I—what?"

"When I mentioned something about the way you look—you never used to let that bother you."

Hermione paused, lowering the bar from her lips. She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, eyes widening as she observed how confused he seemed to be. No doubt it was far outside of their comfort zone for him—she herself was shocked by the way in which she'd reacted.

"I'm only human, Malfoy," She said quietly, averting her gaze. "I take offense to things, as well."

"You sound like Weasley; I thought you were better than that," He said, and Hermione found herself confused once more. Confused, and outraged that he dared to speak ill of Ronald in front of her. Her brows furrowed together and her lips pulled into a pout, her eyes locking onto his.

"And what, exactly, is _that _supposed to mean?"

Draco merely shrugged, and when he gave her no answer she pressed the matter further.

"I just mean that Weasley's well-known for being the one to get so sensitive and easily offended about everything in the fucking book in the little ridiculous Trio of yours," Draco commented, taking a bite out of his cereal bar and flitting his hand around. He chewed in silence, swallowing quickly before continuing. "I just never pegged you as the type."

"Oh really, Malfoy?" She snapped, anger overwhelming her. "Well, I'll have you know that you can't exactly _peg _me as any type—you hardly even know me!"

Draco snorted at this, and the rest of Hermione's dinner dropped from her hands, hitting the ground with a slight thud.

"It's not funny, Malfoy, and don't you dare sit over there and snort at me!"

"Alright, alright," Draco said suddenly, and his sudden withdrawal from teasing her caused Hermione to blink, startled.

"Well…good, then."

Draco shrugged once more and finished off his cereal bar, his eyes drifting back to hers after a few minutes.

"You're not ugly, you know," He blurted out suddenly, and Hermione found herself taken aback. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and swallowed heavily, at a loss for words. Had Draco Malfoy just indirectly _complimented _her? Or…something, of the sort.

"Oh?" She managed, her chest heaving slightly.

"Not ridiculously hideous, no," He said, and Hermione saw his lips tug into a slight smirk. She was baffled at how forward and un-Malfoyish he was being about the entire situation, but before she had the chance to question him further, he moved to stand.

"I suppose we should get some sleep; if we're ever going to find the bloody Hallows, we'll need to be well-rested," He proclaimed, stretching and scratching his abdomen. Hermione nodded stiffly, her head swimming with a million different thoughts and questions. She gathered her bearings but remained seated, watching as Malfoy sauntered off towards the tent.

"Malfoy, wait!" Hermione called out, dropping her possessions and moving to stand. He turned around slowly, arching one brow, and Hermione wrung her hands together nervously.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" He inquired, cocking his head to the side. She wanted to hit him again for acting so purposefully naïve about the entire affair.

"You gave me that—sort of compliment…or whatever."

"I wasn't complimenting you, Granger," He drawled out, and even from their distance she noticed his silver eyes scanning her over once. "Merely stating the truth."

"Oh, well…thank you, I suppose," She managed, cursing herself for finding it necessary to use manners in such an instance. He didn't deserve her manners or kindness—not when he'd spent so long insulting her.

"Goodnight, Granger, don't let the bush hair bite." He replied, and she saw that charming smirk broaden across his face before he slipped inside the tent. With shaky legs and a clouded mind, Hermione sat back down on the log, biting her lip and becoming lost in thought once more.

"Ridiculous, spoiled ferret," She muttered, though as his words from the evening rung hollow in her ears, Hermione found it difficult to mumble the intended insult with quite as much malice as normal.

* * *

><p><strong>aN: **Hey, all! I apologize for taking so long to update—I've been busy with schoolwork, senior prom, preparing for AP exams and graduation. Things of the like, really! I had actually written most of this chapter one day at school, but then the school computer crashed and deleted all of it, and I really lost my motivation to try again for a while. But nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter so far, and I hope you're all doing well! Let me know what you think—review, private message me, etc.


	7. The Book

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Six: **The Book

"_The books that help you most are those which make you think the most."_

_- Theodore Parker_

* * *

><p>Camping with Granger was certainly…interesting, to say the very least. There was never really a doubt in his mind that she was going to be a difficult person to live with, and with each passing hour he spent with the petite Witch, he found his assumption to prove truer than before. Their first full day on the campsite, he'd managed to get a rise out of her concerning dinner—it was a trivial matter, really, of who would hunt and who would cook, but with Granger, even the simplest of tasks became the most difficult.<p>

"I don't bloody care who you _think _you are, Malfoy; you don't get to choose who does what all the time!" She'd shrieked, and Draco recalled finding amusement in the way her hair viciously bobbed about her face. If he wasn't so bloody pissed with her all the time, he might have even found these instances comical.

Everything turned into an argument for them—who slept on what cot, who would keep watch while the other went and changed, where they'd bathe. Anything they could find reason to take opposing sides on, they would. Draco knew he was being ridiculous; knew that Granger was being immature as fuck, but the fact of the matter was that their bickering felt too much like home. It was natural for them—it was the only kind of sanity he had in this fucked up situation.

It was as he watched Granger prepare a fire for the evening that he realized what it was he found so peculiar about her; about their _circumstances. _Fighting with Hermione Grangerhad become a safety net for him—it was familiar and comforting in a world where nothing made sense. He could spend hours trying to figure out how he'd come to be one of Potter's tools in the War against the Dark Arts, or try and analyze the situations he often found himself stuck in, but at the end of the day, he still had this small fragment of his former life that he could thrive in. His relationship with Granger was like holding a shard of glass in his hands; it was delicate and intriguing, but if he wasn't careful, the very thing that preoccupied him could also harm him. It could destroy him.

Granger was growing tired of their games; it was clear that she'd managed to struggle free from the safety net both had been encased in for so long, and Draco knew that if he wasn't careful, the remnants of his glass world would shatter.

"Are you sure you even brought us to the right bloody place?" Draco asked her one evening, glancing at her with curiosity as she placed a fish they'd caught from the river onto an iron pan she'd somehow managed to stuff in that charmed purse of hers. She didn't bother to dignify his question with a response—not immediately, at least. She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together so tightly that all the color vanished from her mouth, causing her to turn a sickly shade of white. She leaned forward, holding the pan over the fire and shaking it slightly, hearing the fish sizzle in the pan.

"I'm trying the best I can, Malfoy," She snipped irritably, and Draco stretched his limbs, preparing for another fight. "It wouldn't kill you to help out, you know."

"_Help out?" _Draco snarled, his nostrils flaring and his lip curling up into a vicious snarl. He looked like an animal, more than likely, with the inhumane scowl he'd managed to muster up for her. She always did know how to bring out the worst in him.

"Who do you think built the fucking tent in the first place?" He spat, waving an arm in the direction of the elaborate tent that had maintained a sturdy structure since he'd first built it a few days prior.

"Oh, I'm sure it's so _difficult _to pull out your wand and wave it around a few times!" Hermione spat in response, and Draco noted that her hand was shaking slightly. He huffed in annoyance but fell silent, digging the tip of his brown loafer into the soft ground. He grit his teeth together and glared at the roaring fire before him, feeling its warm heat soak into his bones, warming the chill that nearly always occupied him.

"I don't know why you feel as though you need to take the credit for everything," Hermione continued, shaking her head slightly. She finally lifted her brown orbs from the food cooking over the fire to settle on his, glancing him up and down once with disapproval. Draco felt angered by her scrutiny and sat taller, throwing his shoulders back and glaring at her with as much malice as he could muster in that moment.

"I don't know why you feel the need to be such a know-it-all bitch, but I suppose there are things we'll never know about one another," He spat in retort, and Hermione blinked twice, evidently startled by his response.

"Why are you such an impossible human being?" She shrieked, standing up and setting the pan to the side. Draco, not wishing to appear intimidated by a Witch nearly a head shorter than him, stood up and stepped forward, disregarding the fire burning so close to them.

"I guess you bring out the best in me, Granger," He sneered, smirking at her cruelly. He watched as the fire danced and reflected in her light brown eyes, and noted that her face had grown cold. She stared at him for a few more minutes before finally huffing in defeat, shoving past him and picking up the pan. She turned around and angrily busied herself with dishing out the portions, turning around and shoving his plate in his face.

"There—_you're_ _welcome_," She hissed, taking her own plate of food and storming off towards the tent. Draco watched her as she left, rolling his eyes at the fact that she had to be so damn dramatic about _everything. _In all the time he'd known her, Draco couldn't ever recall her getting so frustrated with him all the time. Then again, they'd never spent such a long frame of time isolated together, and he supposed that was where most of her anger derived from. Merlin knew that's why he harbored most of _his _resentment as of late.

Sighing, he pulled out his wand and extinguished the fire, following her inside. There was no use in eating alone if she wasn't there for him to bother; not really, anyways. He opened the flap of the tent and stepped inside, spotting her at the table and moving to sit across from her. The maps they'd been studying were spread out across the long table, and Draco gently moved them to the side as he sat down, noticing how intently Granger was ignoring him. It was comical, in a way—she was struggling so damn hard.

He noticed that she was reading again, with the cover of a book he didn't recognize folded over. His eyes flickered over to the end of the table and spotted the books they'd purchased in the bookshop, and suddenly he grew curious as to what it was she was reading. His memory served to remind him that she'd been reading a book of sorts in a similar fashion that morning in the Muggle inn, and Draco couldn't help but think that she was being oddly secretive about revealing the content of the book.

He attempted to sneak a peek at the cover, but it was folded over so craftily, that the only way he'd be able to see it was if he bloody ripped the blasted thing from her hands. He picked up his fork and slowly cut into his fish, bringing a bit to his lips and chewing slowly. He heard the rustling of paper and noted that Granger had flipped a page, licking her lips as she swallowed part of her meal. She'd cut into a decent amount of it by now, and Draco feigned a stretch. He leaned forward discreetly, struggling to make out the words on the paper. Perhaps it was a book on insults—Merlin knew she needed some brushing up on the subject. Though, admittedly, he doubted Granger would ever possess something with such content.

Maybe, he mused to himself as he forked a bit of fish into his mouth and bit down, retching slightly at the salty taste of it, it was a romance novel. Witches were into that, weren't they? It certainly would make more sense as to why she was hiding it from him—Draco couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Granger engrossing herself in a naughty and steamy little book full of cheesy and disgusting romantic plots that not even the most sentimental of blokes could come up with. However, the only words Draco was able to pick up from the page the bushy-haired Witch had delved herself into was something that appeared to be a name—"Boo Radley". Draco frowned slightly, deciding that it was a wretched name to give a character for a romance novel, and scraped his fork against the plate. Hermione gave a soft sigh and shoveled another bit of the small fish into her mouth, flipping the page and clearing her throat once she'd swallowed.

He could always ask her, he supposed, though he had an inkling she'd come up with the same vague, irritating response—"just some light reading". He couldn't seem to figure out _why _it meant so much to him regarding what the Mudblood read; it wasn't as if he gave a shit about her interests or wished to seek a reason to start a conversation with her.

And why _should _he care, really? Let Granger go off into her own loony world and live in a land where people actually gave a fuck about what happened to _her kind _and praised House Elves like they were fucking Ministry Officials.

_ That settles it, _He decided firmly as he settled back into the hard bench. _I'm not going to bother to guess anymore; I don't care._

Smirking triumphantly at his resolution, he cut into his over-dried fish and chewed thoroughly, snickering under his breath. His cocky behavior got him some attention, for he noticed Granger's eyes sliding from the book to him, one hand holding the novel in place, and the other gripping her fork tightly.

"And what, may I ask, is so comical?" She asked dryly. Draco merely shrugged, yet she continued to glare at him.

"You wouldn't get it," He answered finally with a shrug, jabbing the last bit of fish with his fork and eating it. His face contorted into mild repulsion when a pocket of salt burst in his mouth and he smacked his lips together, setting the fork down immediately.

"Do you think you could've cooked a shittier fish, Granger?" He spat accusingly, rubbing the back of his hand against his lips. Hermione, aggravated by this insult, slammed her book shut and set it on her lap before Draco was able to get a good look.

"I'm not a bloody cook, Malfoy!" She shrieked, and Draco fought back a laugh as he noticed her hair was doing that odd thing where it bounced and frizzed around her face the angrier she got.

"No argument there," He responded simply, pushing his plate away and yawning.

"Look, if you're so bloody set on criticizing the way I do things, then do them yourself!" She yelled, moving to stand. She snatched her fork and plate off the table, tucking her book under her arm. She made time to glare at his dirty dish before stomping over to the other side of the tent.

"And put your damn dishes away; I'm not your maid!" She yelled in addition, and Draco heard the clatter of dishes as she no doubt angrily scrubbed away her resentment. The pale-haired ex-Slytherin managed a scowl when she wasn't looking, shoving away from the table and snatching his dishes up. He stalked over to the other side of the tent, where the sink was, and shoved her to the side. He yanked the hose from the faucet and furrowed his brows together, grabbing the sponge and scrubbing his dish.

"Malfoy!" Granger huffed angrily, using all of her body weight to shove him. "Wait your turn!" She struggled to snatch the hose from his hands, but Draco merely yanked harder on it, moving away from her. He was preparing to go back to cleaning his plate when he suddenly felt a bushy-haired force slam against him, and a small "oomph" escaped his lips as she wrenched the spout free from his hand. There was a squeal that emanated from the petite Witch as she struggled to grip the hose, and soon the water squirted all over Draco's face and down the front of his shirt.

There was a moment of silence as Granger pulled her thumb off the handle of the faucet, and the water ceased to run. Her eyes widened as she took in his soaked shirt and the water dripping from the tips of his white blonde hair, and her mouth opened into a small "o" as she sized him up. He managed to glare at her, his chest heaving slightly, and an excruciatingly long bit of silence lapsed between the pair before Granger let out a shrill shriek of laughter and doubled over, placing her palms against her thighs for support as she shook.

"You look—you look ridiculous!" She gasped between laughs, and Draco watched as her bushy hair fell and shook around her face. Draco felt a rush of adrenaline course through him and he growled in response to her jesting, reaching forward and wrenching the water spout from her hands. He turned the hose towards her and clicked the switch just in time for her to lift her head. There was a brief moment of shock that occupied her features before the water shot at her face, and she gasped and sputtered, holding her hands up in a futile attempt to block herself from the line of fire.

"Malfoy!" She cried, but Draco struggled to make out whether she was more amused than angry as she lunged forward. The ground was slick with spilt water and she tumbled forward, falling and causing a stunned Draco to stagger backwards, and they fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Without thinking about their compromising position, Hermione snatched the hose from his hands and turned it towards him, turning the spout on full blast and laughing as he sputtered and gasped for breath. The drenched, pale-haired Malfoy once again groped for the hose, squirting her with the water once more and laughing at how completely and utterly astonished she looked.

It wasn't until the hose had fallen from his hands and cascaded to the ground with a dull thud that he realized that Hermione Granger, soaking wet and breathless, was straddling him on the floor of their fucking tent.

Granger must have noticed this around the same time, for her cheeks burned a deep shade of red, and she scrambled off of him ungracefully. Draco slowly brought himself to his feet, noting how she refused to even meet his gaze. She really _was _embarrassed, wasn't she? Well for fuck's sake, it's not like she'd been riding him or something! In the hours since, Draco would reflect back on that moment and wonder why he wasn't instantly repulsed by that thought, but for now, he merely pushed it away.

Denial always _had_ been a strong suit of his.

"I have to—I need to sleep; you should sleep too!" She babbled mindlessly, turning on her heel and disappearing behind the curtain that Granger had put up for them to change behind. Draco sighed and pulled his sopping wet shirt from his body, grabbing a spare sweater and yanking it on. By the time he'd finished cleaning up his mess from dinner and pondering over what had occurred, Granger had managed to turn the lights off and sneak into bed.

* * *

><p>Several hours had passed, and after endless tossing and turning, Draco gave up on sleep for the night. He shifted to lie on his back, the cot he'd situated himself on creaking slightly. He placed his tongue between his lips and stared at the ceiling of the tent—if he concentrated hard enough, he could just make out the dull outline of the stars burning miles and miles above them. For someone who thrived on living luxuriously indoors, he thought to himself grimly, he had to admit that this was his favorite part of camping out. Forget the fact that his partner was damn near insufferable and they were no closer to finding the Hallows than they had been when they'd first started their journey, but this—this calming state of serenity as the entire world slipped into a deep and peaceful slumber was perfect. It was everything he'd never had; it was everything he wanted.<p>

He heard a soft sigh coming from the cot close by, and his eyes flickered over towards Granger, his body tensing immediately. He sat up, his blonde hair sticking up every which way, and felt his body relax when he noticed that Hermione was still fast asleep. He stared at her curiously for a moment in the dark, his muscles aching from the uncomfortable bed. Rolling his shoulders, he noted that she didn't…she didn't seem all that wretchedly bad when she was sleeping; she was peaceful, even—she fit with the rest of the atmosphere around this time of night.

It was around this time that Draco remembered the queer book she'd been reading, and his curiosity was heightened once more. Perhaps it really _was _a ridiculous romance novel; then he'd have all the more reason to tease her for it. He strained his silver eyes around the tent in the dark, and his eyes fell upon a small, square-shaped object sticking out from underneath her pillow. It appeared to be the same shape as a book, and silently Draco crept over to where she slept. He bent down, his face mere inches away from hers, and gently tugged the book free from the pillow. Her head sunk down further onto the cot, and he held his breath as his heart hammered in her chest when suddenly, she moved. It was the slightest shift of movements, and a small sigh tumbled past her lips, but as she rolled over to the other side of the bed, it became apparent that she was still sleeping. Sighing in relief, Draco scrambled to his feet and crept over to the opposite side of the tent, stealing to the bench in the corner.

Grumbling to himself, he fumbled for his wand and muttered a "Lumos", placing the handle of his wand in his teeth as he inspected the novel carefully. It was an ordinary paperback book, and in swirly lettering on the front read _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Draco frowned slightly, his brows furrowing closer as he inspected the cover page further. There was a beautifully drawn picture of what appeared to be a dark bird of sorts flying through the air, and underneath the illustration was the author's name—Harper Lee. He didn't recognize it as a Witch or Wizard's name, and rolled his eyes as he came to the realization that of _course _Granger would be reading a stupid Muggle book.

It didn't, however, appear to be the cover of some scandalous romance novel. Nevertheless, Draco was intrigued, and decided that it wouldn't do much harm for him to read a bit while she slept. He kept the handle of his wand clenched between his teeth and cleared his throat, opening the book and folding the cover back as his eyes scanned the first sentence.

_"When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow…"_

He found the book to be a queer one as he continued reading, yet his desire to know what would happen, and why Granger appeared so fascinated with the content of it, burned too fiercely for him to simply ignore the chance to study the contents of this Muggle piece of literature when the chance stared him blatantly in the face.

About an hour had passed, and he'd made a small dent in the novel when he heard something stirring next to him. So absorbed in what he was reading and struggling to comprehend what half of the terms used by the characters even meant, he heard a soft noise, as though someone were clearing their throat, and his head snapped up. He dropped the book to the ground with a dull thud, and his wand fell from its place between his teeth to clatter against the table. He picked it up and muttered "Nox" under his breath, but no sooner had he extinguished his light than the person standing above him had lit hers. Granger's face soon became illuminated in the night, and she was giving him an odd sort of stare as she moved to sit down across from him.

Soundlessly, she bent over and picked the book up, setting her wand on the table. It lit up the tent, bright and glowing, and Draco found himself unable to gather the sense to get the fuck up and _leave. _She'd just caught him reading a _Muggle _book—_her _Muggle book, more precisely. There was no weaseling his way out of this one.

"So, you finally found it," She said quietly, staring down at the book, worn with hours of reading she'd no doubt spent over it. She set the novel down quietly, her eyes flickering over to his. Much to his surprise, he found neither anger nor amusement in her gaze, and that puzzled him all the more.

"I wasn't reading it," He defended quickly, and the protest sounded weak even to his own ears. Granger gave a soft smile and shook her head, sighing slightly.

"You don't have to lie, Malfoy; I know you were reading it."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't been so fucking secretive about it, then I wouldn't have been suspicious in the first place!" He continued, squirming in his seat. His fingers itched and he resisted the urge to wring his hands together, his gaze hard on hers. Granger remained silent at this, and Draco decided that she must just be tired—that could be the only logical excuse as to why she hadn't snapped his head off for speaking to her in such a fashion.

"How far have you gotten?" She inquired suddenly, flipping through the book half-heartedly. Draco stared at her in amazement for a moment, cocking one brow before hesitantly snatching the book from her hands. He looked through it, finding the appropriate page and handing the book back to her

"There," He indicated, jerking his head towards it. She scanned the page quickly, mumbling to herself and nibbling on her fingernail thoughtfully.

"So not far, then?" She mused finally, gently closing the book and placing it back down on the table. Draco didn't bother to respond to this, merely glared at her as though he resented her for discovering his secret.

"I would have let you borrow it, you know," She continued gingerly, and Draco was struck with the burning desire to spit in her face and tell her to fuck off and stop being so _nice _to him. Kindness wasn't something that should be shown and practiced while the two were near one another, and Draco dug his fingernails into the cotton of his pajama bottoms to release his anger.

"Why the fuck would I borrow a Muggle book from you, Granger?" He spat accusingly, narrowing his eyes slightly. She merely shrugged, a small smirk on her lips challenging him.

"You were the one reading it in the dark, if I recall correctly."

"Like I said, that was just curiosity—"

"Of course it was," She said simply, her face hiding all emotion she might have felt. Draco attempted to penetrate her cool and impassive mask, and once that failed he huffed in aggravation, running a hand through his hair.

"Why are you reading that, Granger?" He asked, defeated. "I'm not sure I understand the context of a lot of what they're saying."

Granger, as if delighted by the chance to speak about books, sat up straighter and gave him a slight smile.

"Well," She began breathlessly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Like you said, it's a Muggle book—written by an American author and published the mid-1900's. It's made to address one of the biggest conflicts in society at that time—have you figured out what it is so far?"

Draco paused, struggling to remember all of what he'd read, before finally sighing and shaking his head slightly.

"They…they seemed to be a bit…elitist about skin color."

Hermione shook her head slowly, as though she were guiding a child through a lesson. The thought made Draco want to toss his lunch.

"Yes—racism was a big deal, particularly in the southern region of the United States around this time…people used to believe, actually, that one race of humanity was biologically and physiologically superior to the other. Some still feel that way, unfortunately, but…" She trailed off, pursing her lips slightly as Draco mulled things over. He didn't understand why the fuck Muggles would give a damn about skin color in the first place—it wasn't as though it changed who they were. Deciding they were inferior, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, mildly disgusted.

"And they say Muggles are advanced creatures for their time," Draco scoffed, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Honestly; to fucking isolate and dislike someone for something as ridiculous as that? No wonder the Muggle world went to shit."

Hermione said nothing, merely pressed her lips together and toyed with the edges of her book. Finally, her eyes slid over to his, and she parted her lips slightly.

"It is ridiculous, isn't it?" She asked quietly, and the question was so soft and tender that Draco reeled in shock.

"What are you getting at, Granger?" He asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. She made him feel uncomfortable, and Draco had to grip the edge of the table for support. "What's the correlation?"

Instead of responding, Hermione stood. Rather than taking the worn book back with her to bed, she slid it over to him, giving him a faint smile.

"Why don't you read it and find out?" She challenged, quirking one brow. Before Draco was able to compose a coherent response, she'd doused her wand and slid back to bed, leaving her pale companion confused, and staring blankly at the book now cradled in his hands.

Left with the option of abandoning the book and taking it, Draco tossed it on the counter and sulked off to bed, scowling and laying back down on the cot. He fell asleep much easier this time than the last, and by the time he'd woken up the next morning, the book was lying next to his pillow.

This time, he kept it.

* * *

><p><strong>aN: **Hello, everyone! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, for some reason, and I hope you all enjoy it, as well. I wanted to steer away from the cliché "Draco gets caught reading Shakespeare" thing that I myself have even succumbed to from time to time. I chose _To Kill a Mockingbird _for a multitude of reasons, one of which should be obvious and another being that it's one of _my _personal favorites. I hope you're all doing well, and don't forget to review and let me know what you think xxx!


	8. The Celebration

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Seven: **The Celebration

"_A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts."_

- Proverb

* * *

><p>The rest of August passed by in a blur, with no real lead on the Hallows. Hermione had Owled Harry, concerned about the whereabouts of the Wand and the Stone—without either of them in their possession, Bellatrix would be nearly too powerful to defeat. If she had two of the items required to be the master of death, who was to say she wouldn't find some way to obtain the Cloak from Harry, as well? Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine, and the bushy-haired Witch groaned inwardly at the thought.<p>

Sighing, Hermione sat at the table located in the tent she shared with Malfoy, looking over the books she'd purchased at that quaint little bookshop with Draco. She'd filled the margins of the text with little notes, and had dog-eared specific passages she wished to return to. Murmuring to herself, Hermione reached for her copy of _A Modern History of Powerful Wands and Their Owners_, locating the section on The Elder Wand and flipping the tome open to the correct page. The worn pages fluttered as she frantically flew through the book, and she exhaled slightly when she finally found the correct page. Nibbling on her thumb nail, Hermione began to read a highlighted passage to herself.

"_Often dubbed as the Deathstick, or the Wand of Destiny, the Elder Wand was, by definition of the children's tale of The Three Brothers, manufactured by one of the trio of Peverell brothers—most specifically Antioch Peverell. According to the classic children's story, Peverell was the brother who was granted a wand powerful enough to beat any dueling Wizard in combat._

_ The story first appeared in the first edition's publishing of The tales of Beedle the Bard, and was dubbed as originating as early as the 13__th__ century. Though many Wizards and Witches are skeptical of its existence, those specifically educated in the art of wandlore claim that there is too much evidence of the wand's existence to profess otherwise. Among its feats, the Elder Wand is said to be able to perform tasks that even the most powerful of Wizards would be unable to with ordinary wands—such as, but not limited to: mending another wand damaged beyond normal magical repair, producing a Patronus Charm powerful enough to flock off an army of Death Eaters, and producing magic strong enough to destroy an opponent's wand."_

Hermione furrowed her brows together, circling bits of the passage she found particularly helpful, such as what claims the book held on specific magical abilities that the wand possessed. She felt her stomach churn slightly and she pushed the book away, her worst fears realized.

If Bellatrix found the Elder Wand, they'd be as good as dead.

"Granger, the bloody Owl finally came," Draco growled as he stomped into the tent, and Hermione jumped slightly, blinking as she adjusted her eyes to the dim setting around them. She licked her lips and turned to face Draco, sighing in exasperation and snatching the letter from his hand. He snickered at her reaction, and she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Though things with the Malfoy Heir had grown slightly less…hostile since she'd discovered him reading her copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird _in secret, that didn't mean he didn't irritate her beyond belief. He certainly did live up to the insufferable, aggravating demeanor she'd claimed he possessed all those years ago.

"Is it from Harry?" Hermione inquired, though the scrawl on the front of the letter told her right away. She was worried that Harry wouldn't be able to locate her in order to reply to her urgent message—after spending some time in the Forest of Dean and deciding they'd had no real luck, Hermione had re-located the pair of them to a forest she was unfamiliar with, on the border of England. She slipped her finger under a crease in the back of the envelope and ripped it open, pulling the letter out and reading it quietly. She felt Draco's presence upon her, and resisted the urge to snap at him to bugger off. Irritatingly enough, she knew he had as much a right as she to read Harry's letter. The realization was almost unsettling.

_ Hermione,_

_ I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to you, but I wanted to make sure this Owl wouldn't be intercepted. Not much information has been discovered yet on our end about the whereabouts of Bellatrix—I suggest you take those scrolls I had Neville retrieve for you two and try and figure out where she might be hiding. _

_ As for the Stone, after the Battle last year I believe I disposed of it somewhere near the school. You should check out the Forbidden Forest. I know it's not the most ideal vacation spot, but considering you're with Malfoy, I'm sure it can't be much worse. Let me know how you are, and I'll keep an eye out for things around her. Thank you for the tip about the Cloak, as well—I'll be sure to keep it well hidden._

_ Oh, and Hermione, I hope this reaches you in time, but…happy birthday. Everyone in the Order sends their love._

_ - Harry_

"It's your birthday? When?" Draco inquired immediately, and his question was more like a demand than anything else. Hermione inhaled sharply, her grip on the paper tightening. She crinkled the parchment slightly, straightening her back and folding the slip of paper back up. She slipped it in her pocket and turned around, tucking a strand of bushy hair back behind her ear and regarding the books laid before her with a feigned sort of interest.

"Today," She said quietly, biting on her lower lip slightly. In all honesty, she'd nearly forgotten about her birthday. It wasn't that much significance, though, not really—she was turning twenty, and to most Witches she was sure that was a big deal of sorts, but Hermione couldn't focus on something as impractical as her birthday. There were things to be done and plans to be made, and she couldn't very well just drop everything to have a bloody birthday cake and open presents! Honestly!

"Why didn't you tell me, Granger?" Draco pressed, moving to plop down across from her on the other side of the table. Hermione lifted her brown eyes and they locked with his silver ones instantly. She arched one brown brow as if to challenge him, struggling not to smirk at his comment.

"You?" She sputtered, incredulous. "Why would I tell you, Malfoy? It's of no consequence to you, really."

Draco shrugged, unable to really come up with a proper answer to her question. She eyed him closely, her lips parted slightly. He was attractive, she noted, what with the slope of his nose and the fullness of his lips. He was pale, and while the lack of complexion could be considered a turn-off to most, Hermione found herself rather enthralled by the color of his skin. His alabaster skin looked delicate and soft, and the tips of white blonde hair that hung over his forehead caused his light grey eyes to stand out strikingly against his pale skin. Clearing her throat she looked away, wondering why she was noting his features. She—she hated him!

Nevertheless, she noticed that the young Malfoy was shifting closer to her from his position at the table, and she tensed suddenly, her eyes narrowing into slits as she appraised him suspiciously. What was he bloody doing?

"In that case," Draco murmured, and she found that it was the first time she'd been in such close proximity to him. Her nostrils flared slightly and she dug her fingernails into the wood of the table, her mind racing with the possible insults he was no doubt ready to toss at her. She braced herself for comments about her unruly hair or the conservative sweaters she was known for wearing.

But none of her predictions came true.

Her predictions never came true when it came to Draco Malfoy, she'd discovered.

"Happy birthday, Granger," He murmured, and Hermione noticed that, up close, his eyes didn't appear so hard and cruel. The dark grey melted into something brilliant, and as her breath mingled with his, she swore she could feel her heart thunder erratically in her chest, pressed directly next to her rib cage. But she…she couldn't be nervous—not around Malfoy, of all people! She hated him—she hated his insufferable height, and oh, she hated the snarky comments he made, and—and she hated that damn pale blonde hair and those stupid—those stupid _lips _that always smirked at her when she was making some ridiculous comment, and…

And she was blushing.

"Yes, well, you've said you're happy birthday, I suggest we get back to working on our plans," Hermione hissed, wishing more than anything that the pink tint that occupied her cheeks would disappear. She licked her lips and was prepared to reach out for the book in front of her, but Draco had snatched it from her grasp.

"Don't you know how to have any fun?" He asked, exasperated. She glared at him and huffed, folding her arms across her chest and giving him a haughty glare. Oh, of all the ridiculous things—he—he was insufferable!

"I do, as a matter of fact," She responded coolly, jutting her chin forward in defiance.

"Then prove it," Draco challenged, his eyes narrowing just as hers had. And he was still so bloody close to her! Insufferable, suffocating git…

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione wailed, letting her head sag and hang in her hands. She exhaled softly and groaned, running a hand through her hair and meeting his silver gaze with her hazel one.

"You need to have fun," Draco stated coolly, and suddenly his gaze grew hard…determined. He reached underneath the table and brought out a bottle of wine and set it down on the tabletop. Hermione blinked twice and tugged her lips into a slight frown.

"At least on your birthday," He added, a smug little smirk occupying his features. Hermione's brows knit together in confusion, and she placed her palms flat on the table, hesitant on reaching for the bottle. What was he playing at? And where had he even _obtained _the thing?

"But where did you—" She began, only to be cut off.

"I brought it along with me," He said simply; evasively. She could tell he didn't want to be questioned on the matter, and though every fiber in Hermione's being pressed her to continue to pester him for information, she refrained.

Hermione eyed the bottle before her skeptically, tucking her arms closer to her torso. She exhaled slowly, debating on whether or not she should take up Malfoy's…tempting offer. She'd never been drunk before—well, a few times she'd come close during her years at Hogwarts when she went to Hogsmeade with Ron and Harry, but never…never mind-numbing drunk. She had to admit, as much as she normally protested to such irresponsible displays of behavior, it did sound—dare she say—appealing?

"If I have a hangover tomorrow," She stated stiffly, snatching the bottle by its neck and jerking it towards her. Her dainty fingers curled around the cool bottle and she uncorked the lid, forcing her eyes to meet his amused stare. "Then I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough," He responded, the corners of his mouth twisting into a slight smirk. She managed to scowl half-heartedly at him before fixing her attention back on the wine before her. She was hesitant; although it sounded thrilling to let loose, if even for one night, they still had so much to do! There was planning, and organization, and mapping out the scrolls they had before them, and—and—

Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione lifted the bottle to her mouth, parting her lips and pressing the plump curve of her open mouth against the neck of the bottle. She tilted her head back slightly and squeezed her eyes shut, taking a drink. The wine was dry, though settled well in her stomach. She brought the bottle away from her mouth with a slight pop, licking the fruity taste from her lips and staring at him.

"Well?" He inquired, both of his brows arched forward. She noticed that the gesture caused his forehead to crease, causing a million angry lines to etch across his face. The thought made her giggle slightly, and she struggled to fight the slight smile off her face. She wasn't allowed to laugh or smile—not when it came to him.

"It tastes…" Hermione began, knitting her brows together as she processed the flavor. It wasn't…undesirable, just…just different. "…interesting."

"Interesting being positive feedback, I presume?" Draco pressed, taking the bottle from her. He tilted his head back and took a swig, causing Hermione's face to wretch in repulsion. That was _her _bottle of wine, what was he doing! Oh, Merlin, what was she even _saying_? Her _bottle_ of wine—honestly, was she planning on downing the entire thing?

"Malfoy, that's—unsanitary!" She sputtered, indignant as she rested her hands on the table. He chuckled, and with a furrowed brow Hermione brought her hand up, swatting his arm. "And stop laughing at me! It's not funny!"

"You have to admit, it's a little funny," Malfoy slurred, his lips twisting into a slight grin. His eyes shimmered as he stared at her from across the table, and Hermione stifled the need to stand up and move away from him. The way he was gazing at her was unsettling.

"I don't have to admit anything," She sniffed, huffing slightly. "And besides, you've ruined the wine! How am I supposed to drink now that you've bloody chugged half of it?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Granger, I only took a sip. I have another bottle lying around in my bag, and I assure you—I have no illness you could potentially catch."

Hermione glared at him for a moment, hesitating on taking the bottle that he held in his outstretched hand. It was unsanitary and vile and—and—the all-knowing smirk that occupied the corners of his mouth revealed that he didn't think she had it in her to drink after him. So, with a determined glare, she snatched the bottle from his hands and took a long, determined gulp, her ears ringing slightly as she finally set the bottle down on the table.

"You, Malfoy, are insufferable," She stated, jabbing a finger in his direction. Draco snorted slightly, and she swore she saw the hints of a smile dominate his features.

"Admit it, Granger, you find my charm irresistible," He stated with a slight shrug, and there was no longer any doubt in her mind.

Draco Malfoy was smiling.

"I believe repulsive is the word you were looking for, Malfoy," Hermione commented, finding herself unable to stop the smile that spread across her own lips. Damn him—stupid, irritating, blonde mass of…she cleared her throat, the smile fading from her lips, and stared back down at the table before her.

Oh, hell.

"So," Draco began, diffusing the tension that had settled between them. Hermione exhaled, her shoulders sagging forward as Malfoy chugged some more of the wine. She waited for him to swallow patiently, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt. "What did you want for your birthday?"

She blinked, taken aback by the question. Her cheeks flooded with color when she recalled a promise she had made to herself a few weeks before her birthday, and Hermione shyly shook her head, determined not to cave and reveal such a secret to him.

"Nothing," She assured him, though by the way Malfoy appraised her, Hermione could tell he didn't buy it.

"I don't believe you," He challenged, and Hermione narrowed her eyes into slits instantly. She jerked the wine bottle from his grasp, downing the rest of the liquid and slamming the glass bottle on the table.

"I said it was nothing," She spat, her chest fluttering slightly. She could feel her vision start to blur and cursed herself for her intolerance towards alcohol. The expression on her face caused Draco to chuckle, and he soon produced another bottle of wine. He uncorked the top this time, taking a long drink and sighing slightly.

"So touchy," He slurred, his mouth twisting into a grin. She could tell he was starting to get tipsy himself, and she couldn't help but giggle at the image of an intoxicated Draco Malfoy. He probably stomped around and grumbled about the inferiority of everyone else—it was the only thing she could expect from one as egotistical as he.

"Do you know what I think, Malfoy?" Hermione commented suddenly, her voice low. She leaned forward, her nose crinkled and brows furrowed as she stared at him with determination. Her face was close to his now, and as she blinked away the haze that occupied her mind after the alcohol, she once more noticed the brilliant color of his eyes. They weren't dark grey, or dull and hollow—they were bright and brilliant. A million shades of grey.

"What's that, Granger?" Draco murmured, and she shook her head, inhaling sharply and snapping herself out of her thoughts.

"I think…" She began, her voice thick. She scooted forward slightly in her seat, reaching for the bottle and wrapping her fingers around its cool neck. "I think I frighten you."

At this, Draco gave a burst of amused, drunken laughter, his shoulders shaking as his face contorted itself into a grimace of sorts. Hermione took a swig of the wine, hearing the growing ringing in her ears once more. Merlin, she could feel the blood rush through her face, and suddenly she felt far too warm in her jumper. She rolled the sleeves up as Malfoy calmed down from his fit of laughter, watching him carefully.

"And why in the bloody hell would you say that?" He demanded, taking another drink. She sat straighter, though the scenery before her blurred slightly, and her nostrils flared in concentration.

"Because I'm the only one who challenges you," She stated simply, hiccupping slightly afterwards. Draco paused, the bottle close to his lips once more. His eyes were shimmering with the glaze of a man on his way to a drunken stupor, and Hermione couldn't help but to notice how brilliantly the silver orbs seemed to glow in the evening. She blinked twice, startled that she was so seemingly infatuated with the color of his eyes, struggling in vain to remind herself that she hated him. She hated him, she hated him, she bloody well _hated _him!

"Is that so?" He managed, leaning forward again. "In what way, Granger?"

Hermione swallowed the forming lump in her throat, feeling her hands grow sweaty. She rubbed them on her trousers, leaning forward and meeting his gaze with a haughty glare.

"I'm an enigma to you," She managed to slur, her lips tingling from the alcohol. Her fingers itched to reach out and down the entire bottle; to forget about what she'd blurted out and let things be. But she was Hermione Granger, and therefore silence was not an option.

"A complete and utter mystery to you!" She said with a bitter laugh, flinging her arms about carelessly. Draco had released the wine bottle by now, and in her excitement, Hermione nearly knocked it over. She stifled a giggle, clumsily grabbing the bottle and bringing it to her mouth for another swig, the slightly bitter liquid flooding her system and pumping through her veins. "I bother you because you can't figure me out. It's so foreign to you that someone like me—a _Mudblood_—" Hermione shivered at the word before continuing. "—can be this successful. That someone with my genes is able to be well-known and respected in the Wizarding community."

Growing heated, Hermione stood on shaky legs, walking across the table towards him. The wine bottle swung by her side as she walked towards him, and she fumbled slightly over her feet in the process. She swung the nearly empty bottle at her side, tilting her head back and downing the rest of the bottle. She'd never been so reckless, so carefree—and as twilight settled around them and the alcohol charged her newfound confidence, Hermione found that she was able to reveal the thoughts that had dominated her mind for so long.

"How does it feel, Malfoy?" She spat as he stood, craning her neck to gaze up at him. Her head was pounding slightly and her lips felt numb as she spoke, but she hardly cared. The adrenaline rush that she extracted from this experience was pleasurable, and the toxic words that spilled from her mouth sounded pleasant on her tongue. "How does it feel to be beneath someone like me?"

"You think I'm beneath you?" Draco managed, his voice taut with suppressed emotion. Hermione panted angrily, her breasts brushing against his chest in the process. She noticed how close in proximity they were; how his breath mingled with hers, and how his lips…

_No_.

"Yes," Hermione croaked, though the conviction in her voice was depleting. "For years, you've tried to make me feel weak! Inferior! You condemn those who aren't like you to make yourself feel better about what you are! About what you became! You might have Harry and the others fooled, but not me! I know what you are, Malfoy!"

"And what am I?" Draco snapped, his voice rising.

"A bloody ungrateful, spoiled Death Eater!"

Draco recoiled as though she had slapped him. His face wiped itself of all emotion for a moment before contorting into rage and…and some other emotion Hermione couldn't interpret in her intoxicated state. He looked so wounded and broken, and it wasn't until his hands balled into fists that she was able to realize the weight of her words.

"No, Malfoy, wait!" Hermione slurred as he turned to leave, fumbling over herself. She stumbled forward, clawing at his shirt and trying to force him to turn around. When he didn't, she skirted around and stood in front of him, pressing her hands against his chest.

"I—" She began, biting on her lower lip. "I didn't mean that. It was rude to…to suggest something like that. After all, you've been so helpful with the mission, and I just…" She trailed off, realizing that nothing she said would be able to fix what she had just broken—a silent understanding that they had shared between each other. She had shattered the delicate glass world they had both encased themselves in, and her stomach churned as she reflected on the past few weeks, noting that they had behaved rather civilly with one another.

And she had ruined it.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," She breathed, her hands flat against his chest. She could feel his heart beat fast beneath her fingertips, and it sent a chill up the length of her spine. His expression didn't soften, which unsettled Hermione more than she was willing to admit.

"Don't bother—it's done with," He stated stiffly, taking her hands and shoving them off him. Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly, and her knees wobbled slightly beneath her. She ran a hand through her unruly hair, studying him closely as he managed to glare at her.

"A kiss," She sighed softly, rubbing the side of her face. Draco blinked once, wiping his face of the angered expression it had contorted itself into.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"A kiss—that's what I wanted for my birthday," She said quietly, grabbing the hem of her shirt and twisting it in her hands. She felt the lump rising in her throat once more, struggling not to shrink away in shame under his hot glare.

"You've…never been kissed before?" He sputtered, his words slightly slurred. She expected amusement and mockery in his tone, yet heard none of it. Only shock. Hermione's head was aching at this point, and she closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself before responding.

"I've…been kissed, yes, but…none of it was ever like what I imagined."

"What? The men weren't real?"

"Oh, honestly, how can you—" Hermione began, cutting herself off when she remembered the comment she had made concerning him mere moments prior. Fine. That was a fair shot.

"No, they were real, I just…wanted it to be special."

"Special…I don't think I follow."

"Honestly, Malfoy," Hermione said in exasperation, exhaling in a huff. "I just…wanted to kiss someone and feel something. With Krum, I was still so inexperienced and uncertain and…and with Ron, it just…it didn't feel right. It wasn't what I imagined a kiss being like when I was younger."

"So…a kiss," Draco said after several moments of silence, some of the malice and resentment in his tone dissipating.

"A kiss," Hermione repeated, her voice hardly above a murmur. She looked up, her hazel eyes meeting his grey ones, and for just a moment, their eyes locked, and an unspoken conversation passed between them. Draco bent his head down slightly, and Hermione felt her neck craning forward. So close, she could feel his hot breath against her face, and she could see each individual eyelash. His lips were so close to touching her own, and…

"Goodnight, Granger," Draco murmured, backing away and releasing her from the fog she'd somehow managed to slip into from being in such close proximity to him. Hermione exhaled in a rush, blinking furiously and feeling the muscles in her back loosen. Her mind was buzzing and her ears were ringing again, and she turned around and watched as Draco walked towards his cot, pulling his shirt off and climbing into bed. She clutched her chest, her nails digging into the soft material of her shirt as she licked her lips and stared at his form until he fell asleep.

After staring at him for what felt like hours, Hermione's head slowly began to clear, and she admitted to herself what she wouldn't dare in hours of sobriety.

She didn't hate Draco Malfoy. Not at all.

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><p><strong>aN: **Hey, everyone! Here's the part where I come up with excuses and apologize for not updating in a while. In all honesty, I've been very hectic, and therefore my writing muse has fled. Between finishing up high school, AP exams, my eighteenth birthday, and graduation, I've just been too busy to take care of anything else! Either way, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, because it was pretty entertaining to write. I thought they could use some downtime, and what better way than to get Hermione tipsy for her birthday? Hahah, I hope you're all well! Review and let me know what you think, your comments are appreciated xxx.


	9. Draco's Explanation

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Eight: **Draco's Explanation

"_Kissing is a means of getting two people so close together that they can't see anything wrong with each other."_

_- Rene Yasenek_

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><p>After receiving word that Potter had dropped the Stone somewhere in the Forbidden Forest—to which Draco scoffed and proclaimed the orphan was an imbecile for doing so—Granger had suggested that they pack up camp and head back to the Forbidden Forest. Being in such close proximity to the school after he'd sworn to himself he'd never return unsettled the young Malfoy, but he realized as he aided his traveling companion in packing up their possessions that he didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter. If he were to back out, it would give the Mudblood prude all of the glorified satisfaction she'd been craving ever since they'd started this bloody mission.<p>

And that simply wasn't something Draco was willing to offer to her.

He studied her closely one night as she set up camp in a relatively secluded portion of the Forbidden Forest, after the pair had set up an intense set of protection shields and enchantments around their campsite. His mind kept drifting back to the night they'd celebrated her birthday, and how…_angry_ she'd been with him while intoxicated. She sat alone at the table they ate at, maps and pages spread out before her as she once again skimmed the same reading material they'd picked out of that small bookstore when they first began their journey. Draco was seated on his cot, resting his back against the canvas wall of the tent with a small, worn book clutched in his hands—the very same book Granger had lent to him those weeks before.

He'd made sure to read it when she wouldn't be able to watch him—while she was out searching for food; when she was sleeping. He'd finished the novel finally, and after considering the themes and context of the book, had an idea of what lesson it was his partner had been struggling to convince him of. He eyed her warily—the way she tucked loose strands of chestnut hair behind her ears, and how she'd sometimes sigh to herself when she had finally figured out the missing piece of whatever problem her mind was working on. Her nose would twitch slightly if she grew upset, and he'd taken to noting that she grew quite fidgety whenever she was on the brink of making some sort of breakthrough.

The book, he realized, focused explicitly on racism. Apparently, it had been quite common in the United States around the time for Muggles to discriminate based on skin color. Many seemed to believe that those with fairer skin were superior to others—a trait which caused Draco to scoff and roll his eyes at. For a species that was deemed to be surprisingly advanced for their lack of magical abilities, Draco had difficulty believing Muggles were anything but primitive.

There had been a trial of sorts, Draco had discovered as the plot had unfolded. A man of African-American descent had been accused of a crime he did not commit, and while the young Malfoy Heir assumed that most of the people in the town were privy to this knowledge, none of them spoke up for the poor bloke. None…but one man. There was a character—Atticus Finch had been his name—who had blatantly protested the societal treatment of this man, and had been the one to defend him in a Muggle court.

The story had—begrudgingly—been surprisingly good. It was well-written…for Muggle standards, of course. He'd enjoyed reading it, even if the majority of the characters did piss him off with their treatment of this innocent man. It was as he finished the novel that he finally realized the message Granger had been trying to send him. Determined to approach her, he'd sat with the book clutched in his hands for nearly half an hour, watching as she went over plans that he knew he _should_ have been helping with. But, they'd both worked so bloody hard to find the damn Hallows, and though they hadn't located either one yet, he just…

Shaking his head, Draco moved to stand, crossing the tent silently to sit across from her. Granger didn't bother to look up from the parchment she was studying furiously, so Draco cleared his throat and set the worn book on the table, nudging it towards her slightly. Blinking twice, Hermione's eyes fell from the book and lifted to meet his, slight confusion clouding her otherwise determined features.

"I read it," He said quietly, his voice barely rising above a hoarse whisper. After a few moments of bemused silence, Hermione seemed to grasp what he was getting at, and suddenly her attention had shifted to focus on him. Draco watched closely as her lips parted open slightly in anticipation, and her pink tongue flicked out to slowly lick her bottom lip.

"And?" She breathed, and though the word was spoken softly, it was enough to cause him to jump slightly, startled by how distracted he'd become with…never mind.

"Don't play dumb, Granger—I know why you wanted me to read the blasted thing," Draco replied, and while he'd intended for his retort to be full of bitterness and malice, his tone held none such conviction. It was as though all of his practiced anger towards her had just…dissipated.

"I would have expected someone of your intellect to at least be able to grasp something as basic and blunt as this, yes," Granger said simply in response, and Draco fought off the urge to growl at the slight hint of an amused smirk that lifted the corner of her rosy lips.

It was becoming far too much of an effort to act displeased with her.

Several moments passed in silence, with Draco drumming his hands against the wooden table top in aggravation, struggling to think of a way to compose his thoughts. He didn't know how to go about this—to tell her the truth would be to reveal and unravel the carefully composed shell he'd enclosed himself in since the conclusion of the War, and he wasn't sure how comfortable he was indulging in such foolish impulses.

Licking his lips, Draco sat straighter, subconsciously scooting closer to her. Even though they were isolated in the wilderness, he couldn't help but note that she smelled like soap and…and lavender. The thought that he'd grown so accustomed to her smell disturbed him, and he stiffened slightly.

"You expected this book to change my outlook on Mudbloods and all of _your _lot, didn't you?" He began, his voice laced with accusation. Granger didn't seem bothered by his statement, merely met his glare with a steady gaze.

"Not change it, no—I could never hope for such a thing," She began, shrugging slightly. "I just wanted to get you thinking about it, is all."

"Are you really that naïve?" Draco blurted out suddenly, incredulity shining on his pale features.

"Naïve? No, I simply—" Granger began in protest, but Draco cut her off, holding up a hand and silencing her with a haughty glare.

"Not about _that_, Granger," Draco sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes and shifting in his seat. His silver eyes met her hazel ones, and for a moment he found himself unable to speak. The words resided on the tip of his tongue, and it would be so easy to just bloody spit it out, but…

"Look, I don't—the War was really fucked up; you know that," He began, laying his hands flat on the table. Hermione made no show of responding to him, so he nodded stiffly before continuing.

"So many fucking people sacrificed their lives and were killed that day—and for what? For a stupid title of superiority? For something abstract that, at the end of the day, doesn't really make any damn difference? I mean, for Merlin's sake, what was the _point_?" He spat, running a hand through his blonde hair. Hermione blinked, taken aback, recoiling slightly from the pale-haired former Slytherin seated across from her. She'd clearly taken quite a shock to his outburst which, if Draco was going to be fair, he couldn't exactly blame her for.

"You used to believe there was a point, Draco," Hermione began, her voice soft and timid. Draco blinked, his eyes snapping in her direction as he digested what she had said. Aside from the content, there was something in particular he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around—she'd said his name.

Not Malfoy, or Death Eater, or git—Draco. Just Draco.

"It doesn't matter what I thought," Draco snapped, his upper lip twitching slightly. Hermione stared at him silently, fiddling with her hands and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. He gave a long, tired sigh, gripping the table and swallowing heavily.

"War changes things, Granger—it changes us, as much as we'd like to protest otherwise. It can mold us into creatures that we never thought we'd become. I've watched it destroy people; it's eaten everything I once knew alive and has festered inside of me, rotting and decaying ever since I was old enough to understand it. These people—they walk into war with some sense of noble ideals—honor, duty, and an elevated feeling of superiority. Do you know what that arrogance has gotten us, Granger? Nothing. Because in the end, everything blurs together—there are no sides; only destruction, and those who become prey to it. We all bleed crimson, Granger—it's only a matter of time before everyone else figures it out. Or maybe they won't, I don't know—I've never been much of one for optimism when it comes to human nature."

Hermione stared at him in shock, her jaw slack and her eyes widened. Draco's gaze drifted down to her parted lips once more, and he snapped himself out of his staring before he became too entranced by the curve of her mouth. He attempted to swallow the budding knot in his throat, digging his nails into the wood of the table and meeting her gaze with an impassive one of his own.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, breathing steadily through his nose and focusing on calming the erratic beating of his heart. He felt something soft brush against the back of his hand, and jumped, startled. His eyes shot open, and he looked to see that Granger had delicately placed her small and dainty hand on top of his. He flinched slightly, yet made no move to snatch his hand from her grasp. Her fingers were warm and gentle, and her thumb lightly brushed against one of his knuckles.

"Stop pretending to hate everything so much," She said in a whisper, her voice quavering. She had moved closer to him, and now Draco could feel her hot breath stir across his skin.

"I'm not pretending," He protested in a grumble, and noticed that his throat ached. "There's nothing to like."

Hermione pressed her lips together for a moment, lifting his hand and enclosing it with both of hers. Uncertainly, she turned his hand over so that his palm lay face up, and used her other hand to trace his fingers before setting her hand inside his, measuring how much smaller her hand was than his own. The touches sent a series of shivers down his spine, but he managed to repress them, determined not to let her know how she was affecting him. How uncomfortable she was making him.

"You see things, Malfoy—you see things that other people can't," She began softly, her hazel eyes moving from their hands to rest on his own distressed grey orbs. "You see, but you cannot comprehend."

As if by a gravitational pull, Draco felt himself scooting closer to the bushy-haired Witch. His nose barely brushed against her own, and he froze, the contact foreign to him.

"There's nothing for me to understand," He protested gruffly, though his argument was meek and dissolved as he blinked back the haze that occupied his mind.

Hermione gave him a sad smile, pressing closer and gazing at him slowly.

"The world is a big place, Malfoy—you'd be surprised how much there is for you to understand," She murmured, her eyes glossy as she stared at him. Slowly, she inched her face closer to his; hesitant and unsure, and though Draco's mind screamed for him to pull away, he could do little but sit frozen in silence.

Time, Draco thought to himself, was an odd thing. The world could pass someone by within the fraction of time it takes one to blink his eyes; time could be everlasting—and a moment could slow down and seem like a century. For him, it was both—as she moved closer to him, he could feel his heart racing wildly within the confines of his chest, and the world seemed to blur before him. But for the aching amount of time it took for her to find him, it might as well have been a hundred years.

So, when her lips first brushed against his, Draco didn't know how to react. Her lips felt soft and warm against his own, like velvet, and the mere sensation of her mouth rubbing against his was enough to cause him to stifle a moan that threatened to erupt from the back of his throat. Ever so slowly, her lips parted, and he found himself kissing her back, as much as he wished he could protest otherwise. When her teeth grazed his bottom lip, Draco froze, his mind sending him spinning back into reality.

He pulled away from her instantly, clambering to his feet and scrambling away from her. He stood, glaring at her, his mouth tingling from the kiss they'd just shared. He felt his heart slowly settle down, and his nostrils flared, his jaw clenched shut. Granger's cheeks were blazing red, and he found that she was unable to meet his gaze. Embarrassed, no doubt.

"Malfoy—" She began, her voice aching as though she'd been slapped. Draco tore his gaze away from her, too infuriated and confused to bother to respond.

He'd kissed the Mudblood. _Potter's_ Mudblood. Indifference or not to bloodline since the conclusion of the War, the thought that his lips had just grazed her own was enough to cause his blood to boil.

"Enough," Draco spat, refusing to hear her explanation of what had just transpired between them.

"Malfoy, just listen to me—I didn't mean to—"

"Just leave me alone!" Draco screamed, his chest aching. The tent was blurring around him, and he realized he couldn't be within the same room as her. Not now; not after she'd done something so foolish and fucked up his carefully thought out plan to loathe her for all of eternity.

Unable to glare at her any longer, Draco turned hotly on his heel and stormed out of the tent, shoving open the tent flap with trembling hands. Once outside, he blinked away the white hot fury that corroded his vision and pumped through his veins. He didn't stop until he'd reached a tree that lay at the edge of their campout, slumping against it and sinking to the ground. He brought his trembling hands up to his face, running his hands through his hair and licking his lips quickly. He could still _feel _her lips on his, and the velvety texture of her mouth—he'd swear it.

Groaning, Draco buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving inward slightly.

Granger had just thrown a wrench in his constructed hatred of her, and Draco knew there would be no way to get it out.

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><p><strong>aN: **Hey, guys! I know it's been a while, but between being extremely busy and such, I just haven't had the time or motivation to write! And I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, and for that I apologize, but I felt like adding much else would be a useless filler, and that's not what I was intending for this chapter. I hope you're all doing well and enjoying the story so far—review and let me know what you think xx .


	10. Predictions

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Nine: **Predictions

_"Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing."_

_- Rick Riordan_

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><p>He haunted her dreams. She didn't want to think about him, not after what had occurred the night he'd let his walls down and expressed emotions that she didn't think him capable of, yet she found herself devoting her thoughts to him whenever she allowed her mind to wander. During the day, it was easier to handle—she could curb her thoughts to fit whatever she needed or wanted to. She could keep herself busy; distract herself from noticing him. But at night, when her mind was most vulnerable, he invaded her thoughts and penetrated her dreams. He overwhelmed her.<p>

It was her turn to go and hunt for dinner one night, and Hermione gladly took the chance to be alone with her thoughts. Every time she looked at him; even if it was the merest exchange of glances, she could feel his lips pressed against hers again. The way his mouth had molded against her own; so warm and soft…no, no, she shook her head, exhaling softly. He was _Draco Malfoy _of all sodding people. It was the air, she decided as she peeked through a thick bit of brush before her for any edible berries, but to no avail. It was the air that had caused her to do something as ridiculous as kiss her fair-haired enemy.

And they were enemies…weren't they? Surely, they were. They fought all the time! She reminded him when he was being a pain in the arse, and he lived up to the title. He infuriated her; she hated him! She did! No, no…she thought for a moment, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she moved away from the bush, she didn't hate him; there was no sodding way in Hell she _could _after what had transpired between the pair.

So, what _did _she feel? As the bushy-haired Witch reflected over her emotions, scouring the grounds for something she and the Malfoy git could eat for the evening, she realized she didn't have the faintest clue of what she felt. Confusion, perhaps? Either way, it wasn't as though she could march into the tent and demand that she and Malfoy sort out the tense awkwardness that now lingered between them—what had happened was, in all honesty, her fault, even if he _had _kissed her back. And Merlin, that kiss…ever since that night, he'd avoided her like the plague. Wouldn't even _look _at her! Refused to hold conversations or speak to her…she'd ruined everything, hadn't she? The calm indifference that had settled between them. It was unspoken, to be sure, but it was nice, as well.

Sighing in defeat, Hermione rummaged through a few more bushes until she found a particularly juicy kind of red berry hanging from the stems of a nearby brush. Carefully, she plucked one of the berries, inspecting it thoroughly and struggling to determine whether or not it was poisonous. Deciding it was harmless, she set to work collecting enough for them both to survive off of for the night, tucking them in the small basket she carried with her whenever she was collecting food.

There was little else she could do to distract herself and procrastinate heading back to the tent now that she had a basket full of berries, and it wasn't as though the Forbidden Forest was exactly _safe _for her to aimlessly wander through. So, Hermione tucked her basket and wand close to her, making it through the forest as soundlessly as she could manage. Her shoes crunched on fallen and decaying leaves, and when she felt as though she was close to where the campsite was, she paused, hearing the rustling of hooves against the forest floor. With wide eyes, Hermione scrambled to hide behind a large tree, pressing her back against the bark and exhaling through her nose. Her hazel eyes grew wide as she surveyed the area, noticing a group of Centaurs galloping through the thick underbrush of the forest.

One of the Centaurs with raven black hair and a body the color of midnight stopped, lowering his arms as well as the crossbow he'd had poised and ready. He looked around the deserted floor of the forest, peering into the darkness. The Centaur had a wild and dangerous look about him, and Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen him somewhere before. Her heart pounding in her chest, she pressed her back further against the bark of the tree, clutching her basket of food closer. While Firenze had been accepting enough of humans to accept a teaching position at Hogwarts back in her fifth year and was willing to help Harry, Hermione was no fool-she knew that even now, long after the end of the Second War, that most Centaurs still despised the Wizarding community. The dark-colored Centaur sniffed once, scuffing his hooves against the ground, and another Centaur turned and saw him, trotting back to where he stood.

"Bane-what is it?" The second Centaur began, and Hermione perked up, her attention peaked. Bane-_that's _who he was! She remembered him as the Centaur who had so openly disagreed with Firenze; he was no friend to her, so Hermione made sure to slow her breathing pattern, praying to Merlin that he wouldn't catch sight of her.

"I sense a disturbance, Ronan," Bane spoke quietly, his eyes cast towards the sky. Ronan, a Centaur with fiery red hair whom Hermione recognized as one who had protected her and Harry during one of their treks to the Forbidden Hogwarts in past years. The young Witch allowed her brows to furrow together, desperate to hear more of their conversation. A disturbance? Centaurs were supposed to be intelligent creatures-they relied far too much on the stars and fate for Hermione's taste, but she couldn't deny that they seemed to know more about the ways of the world than the common man.

"A disturbance?" Ronan pressed, lifting his gaze in the hopes that he could locate what it was Bane was referring to.

"The humans are becoming distrustful again," Bane continued, his voice low and even. "I've tried to warn Magorian, though I'm not sure how effective my warnings have been."

"What is it you see in the stars?"

"The same fate I saw for their kind last time-for all of our kind. Dark powers are rising again; far more reckless than before. And I suspect their leader is close to finding what she's been hunting for."

To this, Ronan gave a small snort of protest, his eyes moving to land on his companion's.

"We have to tell Magorian-I suspect he already knows as such, but if this is the case, then we have to protect the colony," Ronan said quietly. Bane nodded stiffly, casting his gaze across the forest floor once more. Inhaling sharply, Hermione pressed herself further against the trunk of the tree, freezing when the Centaur's gaze passed over her. After a few moments, the two galloped off, and once the patter of their hooves against the forest floor had ceased to drum in her ears, Hermione exhaled slowly, stepping out from behind the tree she'd concealed herself behind.

Oddly enough, only one thought crossed her mind in that instant.

_Tell Malfoy._

Gripping the rough handle of the basket, Hermione ran back to the campsite, gripping her wand with a clammy hand and murmuring the incantation that would reveal to her the location of camp that she and Draco had set up. She burst through the protective enchantments, nearly tripping over herself as she scurried to enter the tent. The chill of the fall air bit and nipped at her throat as she gulped for air, and she charged into the campsite wide-eyed and wild-looking, her fingers shaking slightly as she slammed the basket down on the table top. A few berries fell out and rolled to the floor when she did so, and she cursed Merlin under her breath.

Draco had been seated on his cot, laying down and resting his eyes when Hermione came barging in. He sat upright in his bed when she entered, and if the situation had been any less urgent, the frazzled Witch might've managed to laugh at him. As it was, she had no time for such foolishness, and as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she swallowed her embarrassment from those nights before and stepped forward, her nostrils flaring slightly.

"Get up," She demanded, reaching down and picking up his pillow. She swatted him with it once, and the scowl that flickered across his face was absolutely priceless.

"What the hell is your problem, Granger?" Draco spat, glaring at her as he shoved the pillow away from him, smoothing down his tousled hair. Hermione managed to roll her eyes. "Do you ever stop bloody hitting people?"

"Oh honestly, Malfoy, now is not the-"

"Alright, alright, I'm up," Draco growled, shoving off the bed and standing up. He moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers slightly as he sulked over to the table. Slumping down onto the bench, he ran his hands through his light hair as Hermione moved to sit across from him, setting her wand on the table and looking at him apprehensively. It was the first time he'd so much as acknowledged her existence for a period of time spanning longer than two minutes since the...since the _incident, _and Hermione couldn't help but be troubled by that. If even for a moment.

"So," Draco drawled, and the utter lack of _concern _in his voice had Hermione nearly seething as he plucked a red berry from the basket, inspecting it closely. "What the hell was so urgent that you had to smack me awake to inform me of?"

Hermione paused to glare at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line as she wrung her hands together. A cruel thought nearly overwhelmed her mind; she could keep this information from him. She could Owl Harry and tell him in secret-how would Malfoy enjoy being kept in the dark like that, hmmm? But just as soon as the thought sprung to her mind, it dissolved-she couldn't do that to him. He was her partner, stubborn arse or not, and he deserved to know what she'd overheard in the Forest. Who knows? He might even be able to help.

"When I was out in the Forest just now...searching for berries, I-I came across a group of Centaurs," Hermione began, exhaling slightly as she started speaking. Draco froze, his gaze sliding from the berry and locking onto hers, searching for some sort of explanation.

"What? Did they want to give you a free ride through the bloody forest?" Draco responded testily, struggling to make light of a situation that Hermione could tell he already knew was bleak.

"One of them-Bane, was his name; I-I remember him from earlier...encounters-"Hermione rambled, tucking at a loose strand of hair. "He-he stopped, and another Centaur came over to him, and they started discussing current...dangers." She nearly choked the last word out, struggling to remember what exactly it had been that Bane had said. Something about dark powers rising worse than before? Her lips tugged into a slight pout, and her hazel eyes slid over to watch as Draco's face contorted into bemusement.

"...danger..." He mumbled, urging her to continue.

"Yes, danger. They-Centaurs, you know, are able to predict things about the future based on the stars and well, Hagrid always said they were extremely intelligent and-" She was rambling again, and Hermione inwardly cursed herself for not being able to finish her thought without going off on some stupid rant. Pausing, she inhaled slowly before daring to begin again.

"-and anyways, I overheard them discussing what they'd seen in the stars. They predicted that trouble is coming-which, obviously, we already knew, but-there was...insinuation that the power rising is much more reckless before, and...and they fear that Bellatrix is already close to finding exactly what she needs."

Draco sat in silence in the aftermath of her confession, his face blank as he undoubtedly processed the information she'd just professed to him. Slowly, his brows knit together-whether in confusion or anger she couldn't seem to tell-and Hermione dug her nails into the wood furnishing of the tabletop, swallowing heavily.

"So," Draco began finally, his voice hoarse in the thick silence the consumed them both. "We need to look harder, then."

Hermione nodded stiffly, unsure of what to say. Now that she'd released the information she felt he deserved to know, she was surprisingly at a loss for words.

"I suppose, yes," She said, her voice soft and low. "And we need to find the stone and the wand soon-she's helpless without them, but..."

"...a weapon of destruction with them," Draco finished, and Hermione nodded her head solemnly. Slowly, Draco stuck the berry that had been pinched between his fingers in his mouth, chewing quietly. Hesitantly, Hermione reached for the basket and took a handful of the red berries for herself. There really was no use in starving herself due to the bundle of nerves inside of her. And besides, she had to make sure she received enough nutrition to keep her senses alert and her body ready for action at any moment.

Not that they'd _seen _much action, of course...

Sighing, she began to half-heartedly eat the berries, pausing every few seconds to glance over in Malfoy's direction. He seemed to be pointedly ignoring her again, and Hermione couldn't help but grow angry at the realization that he still held something against her for what had transpired at this very table those few nights ago.

"Are you ever going to talk to me again?" She asked desperately, setting her hands down on the table and looking straight into his eyes; imploring for him to see reason. Reluctantly, his head lifted and his silver orbs locked onto her light brown ones, and Hermione struggled to glower at the pale-haired Wizard; a task that was damn near impossible with the way he was looking at her.

"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?" He replied icily, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a gesture of hostility.

"You know what I mean," Hermione pressed, resisting the impulse to snap at him. Oh, he was so bloody irritating!

"I don't."

"You can't just-you can't just sit there and pretend the bloody kiss never happened, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped before she had the chance to stop herself, and the utterance of those words caused her to turn a sickly shade of white. She watched Draco cautiously, begging him to respond in some manner. He glared at her in silence, and the lack of conversation from his side of the table was deafening and painful. Hermione swore she could hear her heart thundering in her chest and inhaled a jagged breath as she waited for him to respond.

As she _hoped _he would respond.

After what seemed like an endless period of waiting, Draco slowly moved to stand. No, no-what was he doing?

"Sure I can," He replied coldly, moving away from the table. Hermione scrambled to her feet, leaving behind their half-eaten dinner and stomping towards him. She blocked the path to his bed, balling her hands into fists and glaring up at him. Merlin, he was so bloody _tall!_

"Stop acting like a petulant child!" She hissed, growing more irritated by the minute. "We-we _kissed, _Malfoy!"

Scowling, Draco bent his head towards her, his silver eyes scanning hers for a moment.

"No," He protested, his voice eerily low and calm. "_Nothing _happened."

With that, he shoved past her, leaving a wide-eyed Hermione gaping after him in shock. How-how dare he! Of all the insufferable, rude, arrogant-

"And where do you think you're going?" She shrieked, storming after him. Draco plopped down on his bed, turning on his side so that he didn't have to face her. In frustration, Hermione kicked the bed, watching as the cot rattled.

"You can't-you can't do this to me! I deserve for you to at least scream out your anger!"

In a fit of rage, Draco tossed the covers that had been wrapped around his form to the foot of the bed, kicking them to the side and sitting up. He turned to face her, glowering at her as angry so clearly coursed through his veins.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want!" He screamed, his voice going hoarse from the force he was using to yell at her. Hermione blinked, taken aback by his sudden outburst. "I don't think you _deserve _anything, no! I couldn't give a shit less what you think, Granger, and I couldn't give a shit less about _you_. Are we _clear_?"

At his words, Hermione paled considerably, feeling ill. Oh, she was a bloody _fool_, wasn't she? To have convinced herself that he actually enjoyed the kiss? That he felt as burdened by the act as she did? That maybe, perhaps, he viewed her as something close to a friend of sorts? That he even viewed her as _anything_?

But he didn't. He was just Draco Malfoy-the stubborn Pureblood who teased her in school and tread over others without a second thought.

"Yes, Malfoy," She whispered tautly, her throat aching with the comprehension that she'd just embarrassed herself so wholly. She turned hotly on her heel, moving as far away from him as she could manage. He didn't bother to respond-not that she'd expected him to, anyway.

It wasn't until Hermione had tucked herself safely into the confines of her cot that she dared to allow herself to feel disappointed.

For a few short weeks, Hermione Granger had allowed herself to feel civility towards a man who clearly didn't care whether she lived or died.

And that almost hurt worse than the fact that she had grown to consider him as something relatively close to a friend.

* * *

><p><strong>aN:** Hello, everyone! I apologize for the delay in this chapter; my computer was in the shop for a bit, and then I had hard time finding inspiration to write this chapter on top of that. The next chapter or so are going to be big ones, which means I'll probably end up writing those quicker, considering I've been looking forward to them for a long time now. Anyways, I hope you're all doing well! Please review/PM and let me know what you think xx!


	11. Touch

**_Shades of Grey_**

**Chapter Ten: **Touch

_"I may never be happy, but tonight I am content."_

_- Sylvia Plath_

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><p>They were always fighting these days. It seemed to Draco that no matter how hard he struggled to ignore her presence, she was always saying or doing <em>something<em> that pissed him off to no bloody end. Sometimes it was the way she phrased things-as though she were purposely holding back her true feelings on a particular matter; other times, it was the way she snubbed him or how she cooked the dinner. He'd get blamed for not picking out the freshest fruit for dinner, and was barked at for not contributing enough. To which he would bitterly reply and protest that he was, and added that if she managed to pull her bushy head out of her twat long enough, then she'd be able to see that.

Ever since the incident regarding their kiss, Draco had struggled to pretend as though she didn't even bloody exist. But when she confronted him one evening and he'd managed to explode on her, it became startlingly clear to the young Malfoy that ignoring her existence would be damn near impossible. She was a force to be reckoned with, and even he was able to detect that.

And yet, no matter what he did to try and correct the fucked up situation they'd placed themselves in, it appeared that it always ended in some ridiculous fight over one thing or another. Today, the pair were arguing over whether or not they should move camp-Granger had been paranoid that someone in the Forbidden Forest was watching them, to which Draco protested and claimed that it was impossible, what with their campsite being magically protected and such.

Still, though, the bloody Witch was relentless in her beliefs. In hindsight, though, had he honestly expected any different from her?

No. Of course not.

"I'm not bloody moving camp again!" Draco snapped, his lips curling back to bare his white teeth. A low hiss escaped his mouth as he glared at the frizzy-haired Witch who stood across from him, rage coursing through his veins. She was just...impossible! And that was a gross understatement!

"Oh, I didn't realize luxury was more important to you than our safety! Thanks for clearing that up, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, sarcasm lacing her tone. Draco couldn't help himself-he rolled his eyes at such a comment, which proved to only infuriate his companion further.

"Oh, don't you roll your eyes at me, Draco Malfoy!"

"The last time I checked, _Granger_, I was at liberty to do whatever the hell I want. You're being ridiculous, that's all! And I never said that luxury was more important than our safety; I just don't see the point in switching camp sites again just because you're a little paranoid!"

Hermione growled in frustration at this, throwing her hands up as if in defeat. But to even believe she'd back down from an argument was far too optimistic; Draco knew her well enough at this point to understand that admitting defeat in a fight was something simply unheard of for stubborn little Hermione Granger.

What irritated him the most about this trait was that he was exactly the same way.

"Why do you have to fight me on _everything_?!" She continued, and he swore he could detect a hint of exhaustion in her voice. Not that he particularly blamed her, of course-the fighting was beginning to take a toll on him, as well. Just as he'd predicted it would back when Potter first gave the two of them this outlandish assignment in the first place.

"You're the one making mountains out of bloody mole hills, last time I checked," Draco growled in response, glaring at her with a heated expression. His face contorted itself into one of rage, and he could feel his fingers begin to twitch at his sides; a telltale sign of anger for him, as his mother had once pointed out during the peak of his youth. Hermione made no immediate response to his accusation, merely set her jaw and narrowed her brown eyes in his direction, giving him a haughty glare. One which he returned with just as much vigor, if not more.

"We're moving camp, and that's the end of that," She stated finally, jutting her chin forward in an act of defiance. Draco's temper flared at such a response, and he stepped forward, gritting his teeth together to suppress the urge to scream in her bloody face. His composure was dwindling, and he knew that he only had moments before he erupted like a damn volcano.

"No, we aren't-there's nowhere else for us to go, Granger."

"Of course there is! I-I'll show you, you vile little..." Hermione hissed, unable to even finish her train of thought. In a huff, she turned around and snatched her wand off the table, stomping out of the tent. The canvas flap opened and shut with a vicious snap, and Draco stumbled out of the tent after her, standing at the opening and calling after her.

"And just where the hell do you think you're going?!"

"To prove you wrong, Malfoy!" She shrieked, storming off into the woods and turning a sharp right.

Oh, for the love of...

* * *

><p>He was impossible to deal with! She couldn't even speak with him about the simplest of matters without him blowing his top! It was as if...well, as if he was trying his damned hardest to make sure he opposed her on anything and everything! And knowing Malfoy, well...that prediction didn't seem too far-fetched to be a reality.<p>

Perhaps that was what was most unsettling to Hermione.

Nevertheless, after evacuating the safety of their camp site, she'd been too upset to bother taking the normal precautions she did once outside the protective enchantments. She stalked through the barren floor of the forest, her shoes crunching dead and decaying matter as she went. Her wand was tucked safely within the confines of her pocket, and she grumbled angrily to herself as she ducked low branches.

That was it! She wasn't going to allow Malfoy to try and obtain control of situations any longer! She would-she'd find the perfect camp site for them! And that would show him! She gave a slight huff at this thought, her lower lip jutting out into a small pout as her brown brows knit together. She could be...stubborn-that was a personality trait she was already fully aware of-but...but Malfoy was just _ridiculous _about it! It was his way or the bloody highway! And Hermione just wouldn't accept that.

Determined to find a suitable, safe location for the pair to move camp to, she kept her gaze out for a clear opening, which was a lot more difficult than previously expected in this particular forest. She nibbled on her lower lip, deciding the density and proximity of the trees in this area of the forest weren't...spaced out enough for either one to comfortably set up tent in.

Slowly, she rounded the corner, her hand brushing against the rough trunk of a rotting tree as she searched for the perfect location. Despite her argument with Malfoy, she was still firmly rooted in her belief that their current site wasn't safe. Despite his...practical argument that their camp was, in fact, enchanted, that didn't mean they weren't being watched! Both she and Draco were valuable people, and if one of Bellatrix's followers-could they really even be called her own?-was to find one of them, then it would all be over. She and Malfoy would be as good as dead.

So, why couldn't he seem to grasp that?

Sighing in aggravation, she was making her way down a narrow path in a particularly thickly-wooded portion of the forest when she heard a noise. It sounded like a crackle of sorts; as though someone had stepped on a twig. She cast her gaze down to her feet, and though she kept herself still, she continued to hear the foreign noise. Suddenly, the realization that she was out in the open by herself hit her like the force of a million Stupefys. Her throat tightened as if on command, and she forced herself to steady her breathing. Her heart was thudding erratically against her rib cage, and her dark eyes scanned the dim forest floor as her hand slowly moved towards her pocket, where her wand was stowed. If she could grab the instrument unnoticed, then she'd be able to better defend herself against whatever it was that was so clearly creeping up on her.

She'd just barely managed to graze her fingers over the handle of her wand when she felt a very strong, very fleshy force grab her from behind. Letting out a high shriek, Hermione struggled to grab her wand, but a hand was clamping her arm down to her side. She couldn't see her attacker, who had chosen to sneak up on her from behind, and the young Witch struggled against the iron clad grip that held her close.

"Let me go!" She cried, her throat aching from the sheer force she was using to shriek at the creature who held her bound. She used her foot to kick her captor in the shin, and a very masculine grunt escaped her harasser as he staggered against her. For a blissful moment, the masculine figure released her, and Hermione fell forward with a triumphant cry. Rather than falling to the ground, however, she crashed into something solid and cloth-covered-pulling back, her eyes widened suddenly as she noticed a vaguely familiar, dirty figure towering above her.

Scabior the Snatcher.

"You," Hermione breathed, her throat aching as she backed up. Her spine stiffened immediately when she collided with a very firm being behind her. Merlin-she'd almost forgotten about the other man!

"Me," Scabior responded, giving her a toothy smile and stepping forward. Hermione's hand reached for her wand once more, but the Snatcher must have caught her quick movements and snatched the wand from her hands before handing it to his partner. Letting out a defenseless cry, Hermione's eyes grew wide. She had no wand. She had no one to help.

She was completely alone.

"What are you-doing here?" Hermione managed, feeling the press of the man who had first grabbed her press against her back. She could feel his hot, foul breath against her neck, and her nostrils flared slightly. Why, if she had her wand she would...she would...but she didn't have her wand, did she? Nevertheless, there were still actions that could be taken. She _had_ to find a way to escape; she wasn't about to become some filthy fugitive's plaything!

"I think we could ask the same of you, Miss...what was it again?" Scabior asked, arching one dark brow slightly as he feigned ignorance of her name. She wanted to spit on him; she wanted to hex him into the next century. She stood tall, balling her hands into fists and waiting patiently as the man before her convinced himself that he held all the cards in their situation. She'd let him believe so-for now, at least.

"Granger, that's right," He continued, his grimy lips stretching into a sadistic smirk. Hermione held her head high; determined not to show the fear she felt coursing through her veins in that moment. "So far away from your cozy little dwelling, aren't you, love?" He stepped forward, severing the space between them, and lifted his hand. Hermione suppressed the urge to flinch, jerking her face away from his touch as one dirt-caked fingernail trailed across the fine points of her jaw.

She was surely going to be sick.

"Now-are you going to play nicely?" Scabior continued, referring to the instance during the War in which she, Ron, and Harry had been captured by the Snatcher and his band of rats. Even the mere recognition of such a memory was enough to have Hermione shuddering in disgust.

Rather than respond verbally to his inquiry, however, Hermione lifted her hand and clenched her hand tighter into the fist she'd formed. Blindly, Hermione swung at the man before her, hearing the satisfying crunch of bones under her fingertips as her hand made contact with his nose. Her hand ached from the impact of the blow, and as she heard Scabior scream out in pain, she shoved past him, the enemy's blood coating her knuckles and dribbling down her slender fingers. She ran for her life, her brown hair whipping behind her as she struggled to find a safe haven to hide behind. No such luck found her, however, for she hadn't gotten very hard when she felt something strong and large collide against her. Crying out in pain, Hermione stumbled over her feet and fell to the ground, bruising her ribs as her body collided painfully with the rough ground of the forest floor. Black spots corroded her vision, and she struggled to move to a kneeling position, but found that she was being held down. Grunting, she dug her fingers into the rough texture of the land, dirt caking her fingernails as she struggled to pull herself out from under the weight of whatever had fallen on her. She was certain she'd ripped the knee of her jeans and torn her sleeve in the process of falling, but…her tattered clothes were the least of Hermione's concerns at the moment

Just when she thought she'd freed herself, hands wrapped themselves around her waist and dragged her to stand. Whoever it was that was gripping her tight held her above the air, and Hermione found that she could do little else than scream in protest and thrash her limbs around wildly. This was to no avail, however-as the person carrying her slammed her against the trunk of a very large, very sturdy tree and magically bound her to the large plant, Hermione was able to blink the haze from her eyes and notice that the man who had fallen against her and carried her away was the first man who had attacked her-Scabior's accomplice.

Scabior himself was standing a few feet back, swearing under his breath and wiping the blood from his broken nose. Even in her state of capture, Hermione managed to smirk in triumph. Good; at least she'd injured the bloody bastard. Exhaling slowly, she struggled against her bonds, but it would appear that the more she tried to break free from the rope that bound her, the tighter its hold on her grew. Defeated, Hermione slumped against the tree, watching as Scabior and his unknown sidekick struggled to fix the man's nose. The filthy Snatcher let out a cry of agony when his friend tried to magically fix the bone, and Hermione could hear the crunch as the bone snapped back into place. Clearing his face of the drying blood, Scabior turned and glared hotly at Hermione, who jutted her chin forward in defiance. The man swaggered forward towards her, and the young Witch pressed herself further against the tree trunk, as if she could escape such close contact with him.

"The hard way it's going to be then, I see," He growled, baring his teeth at her. Hermione gulped once, biting on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She'd been in worse situations before-surely she could get out of this unscathed? She was no fool, though-she knew what the abomination of a man standing before her wanted to do with her (curses, she thought; plenty and plenty of curses), and she wished for nothing more than her wand in that moment. She wouldn't show weakness, oh no, but she wasn't going to make this any easier for the git.

Hermione watched, wide-eyed and terrified, as the man lifted his hands and ran them down Hermione's sides in a way that sickened her. She stiffened against him, jerking her face away as he pressed his lips against her ear.

"I always preferred the stubborn ones, anyways; makes the wandwork more fun," He murmured in her ear, and Hermione could feel her heart beating erratically against her rib cage. She bit her lip in humiliation when his hands grazed over her sides, growing stiff from head to toe as he analyzed her stiff form. It was mortifying, and Hermione's throat tightened as she fought the impulse to cry. But Merlin, was it _difficult_.

"_Stop_," She managed forcefully, shaking as Scabior's eyes moved to rest on her own. There was no remorse in his eyes; nothing but greed and hatred. A creature like him would never find it in himself to spare someone-especially not a Witch who had just broken his nose.

But she was strong-she'd been a Gryffindor, after all. She could make it through this; she _would _make it through this.

* * *

><p>It had been far too long since Granger had left the comfort of their tent. Not that he was particularly interested in seeing her, however-he was still bloody pissed as hell at her for the fight they'd engaged in earlier. What was her insistence that they switch camp?! The Forbidden Forest was where they needed to be, and the fact that she was so intent on believing someone was watching them was just as infuriating. They were fine-she was just being her typical stubborn, paranoid self.<p>

However, when she didn't return, Draco grew...what was the word? Not worried, of course, because...because he didn't worry about Granger! Concerned for her well-being, perhaps? Hmm, something along those lines, he decided. Either way, the fact that she still hadn't returned to their camp site disturbed him, and it was with a quick moment's deliberation before he decided that there really was only thing left for him to do-go and search for the hard-headed Witch. Grabbing his wand off the table and stuffing the copy of the map of the Forbidden Forest into his pocket, he exited the tent quickly. He'd managed to grab one of Granger's scarves off her bed, and as he passed through the shield of protective enchantments of their campsite, he pulled the long piece of cloth from his pocket and tied it to a nearby tree, that way he would remember the location of their camp by the time he'd returned.

With that being out of the way, Draco gripped the handle of his wand tighter and set out in search of his partner. His silver eyes scanned the dim forest floor, and he paid attention to the sound of his feet stepping over twigs and fallen leaves as he made his aimless trek through the forest. After walking for what felt like ages, he heard the collected murmur of voices. Halting immediately, Draco tensed up and moved to hide himself behind a rather sturdy-looking tree. He strained to hear the conversation, but could only make out bits and pieces. The voices were masculine, and didn't sound all too friendly. Either way, in that moment one thing became startlingly clear to Draco-he and Granger weren't alone in this forest.

Perhaps she'd been right, after all.

Inhaling sharply, Draco sprinted from the cover of one tree to the other, determined to find out the source of the noise. With each step the murmurs grew louder, and he could make out bits and pieces of muffled conversation-"rope" and "love" and "difficult" being the words he'd been able to make out clearest. Finally, he made out the silhouettes of three figures not too far from him, and as he ducked for cover behind another tree, his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

It was Granger. Granger tied to a tree, with two Snatchers closing in on her. One, whom he'd recognized as the filthy little worker who had brought the Trio to his house all those months ago, appeared to be the one in charge. Another, this one unfamiliar to him, stood a few feet back, as if to keep watch. He was closest in range to the young Malfoy, and Draco made sure to closely inspect the situation at hand before taking action. He felt his stomach turn sour as Scabior appeared to be...what? Interrogating Granger? Threatening her? He couldn't tell from this distance…he just knew he wanted to beat the filthy Snatcher to a pulp. He didn't know why he felt this way-perhaps it was because that no one, not even Granger, deserved to be handled in such a manner.

His gaze then turned on the accomplice, and he noticed a thin piece of wood sticking out of the man's pocket, and Draco noticed the make and design of the wand nearly instantly. It was Granger's. Slowly, he lifted his wand and pointed it at his companion's, which was stuffed loosely into the troll of a man's pocket. Under his breath, he mumbled a quick Accio, and the wand flew from the man's pocket and Draco made quick to grab it before it collided with the ground. Stuffing Hermione's wand into his pocket, Draco aimed his wand again, pointing it at the skull of the man closest to him.

"Petrificus Totalus," He whispered, and the man stiffened immediately. With a choked cry, he teetered back and forth on his feet, falling to the ground with a loud thud. At this noise Scabior turned around, and Draco saw in this brief moment that Granger's shirt had been torn down the middle. Merlin, if he'd been any later...

"Who's there?" Scabior demanded, his eyes scanning the forest. Draco snapped himself out of his thoughts, deciding that this was his time to act. Lunging forward, Draco bounded towards the man, whose eyes grew wide in shock. Draco snarled at the vile man, raising his wand and deflecting a sloppy curse that the Snatcher had thrown in his direction.

"Stupefy!" Draco yelled, and the filthy Snatcher was sent flying backwards. He collided with the tree, falling down and sagging limply against the trunk. Curling his lip up into a snarl, Draco stepped forward, panting slightly and pointing his wand directly at the man's chest.

"Petrificus Totalus," He repeated, and Scabior stiffened immediately, his eyes wide and frozen as they appraised the young Malfoy. In his petrified state, he could cause no further harm to either Draco or Hermione, yet this didn't correct the anger that the young Wizard felt coursing through his veins. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his foot back and kicked the man in the ribs once, twice, three times.

"That's for thinking it's acceptable to speak to her, much less _touch_ her," Draco spat, lifting his foot up to kick Scabior once more. He'd nearly succeeded when a scream knocked him from his concentration, and he turned to face Granger quickly, who was panting against the tree she'd been tied to.

"Malfoy, just...let it go-it's fine," She managed, her brows furrowed in worry and her eyes wide in astonishment. Hesitantly, Draco made his way over to her, undoing the bonds that held her against the tree. As the ropes snaked to the ground she sagged against him, and Draco pulled her wand from his pocket and handed it to her. She was far too weak to make it back to camp on their own, and so Draco hesitantly slung her arm across his shoulder and aided her in moving back to the camp site. It had been the most contact he'd had with her since the incident of their kiss, and as much as he knew that she needed support at the moment, he was sorely tempted to shuffle away from her.

Nevertheless, the pair made the trek back to their camp site in silence; Draco exhaling in relief when he spotted the scarf of hers he'd tied to a tree. Crossing the threshhold into their camp, he led Hermione into the tent. Once inside, she released herself from him, moving to sit down on her cot. She stared at the ground, expressionless and hunched over. He didn't know how to correct the situation, and as Hermione wrapped the ripped remains of her clothing more tightly around her figure, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for her. She'd almost...well...he didn't even want to think about it.

Silently, Draco kicked his shoes off, moving to sit down on his own bed. He rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, settling on staring at her. She lifted her gaze after a few moments, and for a series of minutes there was nothing but the sound of their breathing to fill the silence that overwhelmed the room. He kept his gaze locked on hers, and she stared at him in return-almost as if she was searching for something in his eyes.

Draco parted his lips to speak-to say something that would fill the unease that had settled over them. An inquiry as to how she was holding up, perhaps, or an agreement that it would be best if they were to switch camps. No sooner had he opened his mouth to express such sentiments, however, than Hermione was clearing her throat and speaking over him.

"You saved me, Malfoy," She said quietly, her voice barely rising over a hoarse whisper. Draco's throat tightened suddenly at her words, and he swallowed the budding knot in his throat, unable to respond to her immediately.

"No, Granger, not saved you, I-" He began, finding that he lacked the appropriate vocabulary to accurately convey the tumultuous emotions raging through him at present.

"Yes, Draco, you did," Hermione repeated, a bit more sternly this time. Draco's eyes widened when his mind processed the fact that she'd just addressed him by his first name and he watched, entranced as she stood and slowly moved towards him. She stood before him now, her fingers clutching at her shirt in a futile attempt to hold the tattered strip of clothing together. Hesitantly, she moved to sit in his lap so that she faced him, resting her legs on either side of him. Draco froze in his seat, but made no move to shove her off of him.

Not yet, at least.

She gazed at him intensely, her hands lifting slowly to cup his face. Her movements were hesitant and uncertain, and although Draco was beside himself, he couldn't muster the strength to tell her to bugger off and go to bed.

"Touch me, Malfoy," She whispered suddenly, and Draco swore he felt his heart sputter for a moment. He quirked one brow in her direction, bemused as Granger's hands trailed down the length of his arms to take his hands in her own.

"What are you doing, Granger?" Draco asked slowly, confused as to whether or not she'd lost her bloody mind. "Back there, in the woods, you were almost...and he could have killed you...but, I didn't..."

He was unable to finish his sentence as Hermione slowly brought his hands up. She was so bloody nervous, that much he could tell in her movements, and after several moments of deliberation, she pressed his hands against the soft, bra-clad mounds on her chest.

"I don't want to think about that, Malfoy; I want you to...yes. Touch me, I mean." To her credit, she at least managed a blush when she spoke these words.

She...wanted him to? So many things were left unsaid, and though Draco knew he had every right as to inquire why she was suddenly being so forward, he had to admit that at present, he didn't particularly give a damn. He'd suppressed the urge to reach out and touch her for so long, and here she was-presenting it to him. Nodding once, he lifted his hands out from under her hold, moving to grip the collar of her shirt. Slowly, he pulled the torn material from her body, revealing the creamy expanse of her torso to his hungry gaze.

"And one more thing, Malfoy."

"Hmm?" He inquired, lifting his gaze to rest on her brown eyes.

"Don't treat me like some sort of delicate flower; I'm...I'm not."

Draco had no idea where this sudden bout of sensuality came from, or why she wanted him to handle her roughly, but he was hardly about to protest to her wishes. Leave it to Granger to declare her strength and endurance at a time like this.

"Of course not, Granger," He mumbled, reaching down to grip her by her waist. Turning roughly, he pressed her down onto his cot, moving to straddle her. He was less hesitant in his actions now, caught up in the aura of lust that had surrounded him. Bending down, he captured her lips in his own, and this time, there was significantly less uncertainty in their kiss. Granger's lips parted for him almost instantly, and his tongue twirled and danced around hers in a struggle for dominance as he pressed his body against her own.

Draco, more skilled in this area than the Witch splayed beneath him was, moved to release her breasts from the confines of her bra. He unhooked the material from the back and shimmied the flimsy thing down her arms before discarding it to the side. All the while, his mouth was working hot and sloppily against her own. He handled her with a sort of sloppy care-his hands groped at her breasts and he squeezed her nipples once; an action that caused her to mewl in delight. Moving to press his pelvis against her own, Draco began to grind his clothed cock against her core, which elicited a pleased moan from the Witch. Hermione spread her legs wider, gladly welcoming the sensation of his budding erection pressed against her knicker-covered cunt, and the comprehension that she was enjoying this just as much as he was comforted him.

Hermione lifted two trembling hands to fumble with Draco's sweater, grabbing fistfuls of the soft fabric and struggling to pull it overhead. Draco aided her, tearing the shirt from his body and moving it aside. His lips latched onto hers once more, and Hermione used this time to dig her nails into his back. The sensation, while slightly painful at first, felt pleasurable in a manner that Draco himself couldn't quite comprehend, and a low hiss escaped the Malfoy Heir's lips in reponse.

Prying his mouth from Granger's, Draco panted slightly as his hands made work of tearing her trousers off. He undid the button of her jeans and yanked the stiff material down, during which time Granger kicked the trousers the rest of the way off. Eagerly, she reached for the snap of his trousers, fumbling around with the button for a few moments before successfully undoing it. She yanked his dark trousers down to his thighs, pausing instantaneously and gaping at Draco's erection, which was straining against the confines of his boxers. Slowly, Draco lifted one hand to grip her own, guiding her to the elastic band of his underwear. Slowly, Hermione dragged his boxers down, swallowing heavily at the sight of his cock springing free.

Intrigued, Hermione's eyes lifted to meet his own again, and she wound her arms around him once more.

"Keep going, Malfoy."

Nodding once in agreement, Draco dipped his head to suck on the vulnerable and exposed skin of Hermione's neck. She mewled in response, a soft and feminine sound that Draco found himself shockingly pleased to hear. His hands trailed down to grip the band of her knickers, and he jerked the material down roughly, discarding of them before kicking his own trousers and boxers out of the way.

With nothing separating the pair now, Draco pressed himself against Hermione, relishing in the sensation of her warm skin pressed against his own. The touch sent a series of shudders up and down the length of his spine, and he gave a soft moan in response as she hesitantly wrapped her legs around his waist.

Draco deliberated for another moment, uncertain as to whether or not this was the right thing for him to do. Tearing his lips from her own, he forced her to look at him, his cock pressed against her weeping entrance.

"You're sure this is what you want?" He inquired, his gaze set on hers. After a moment of silence, she nodded once, tightening her legs around him. Exhaling slowly, Draco shifted his hips, sinking into the writhing Witch beneath him. He knew that this was the first time she'd ever engaged in anything so...carnal, and as he stretched her tight entrance, he could do little else than moan in response and grip the sheets underneath him. It took all the strength he could manage not to pound into her right away; he knew that she'd take some time to adjust, and judging by the way her jaw slacked and her eyes widened, she too was aware of this realization.

"Just...just-just a moment, Malfoy," She murmured, her cheeks growing crimson as she shifted underneath him. Draco panted, bending and focusing on nibbling at her collar bone as she adjusted to the feeling of him so deep inside of her. After a few moments of silence, Hermione gripped Draco by the hair and lifted his head, her eyes alight with lust.

"Okay," She breathed, nodding once.

"Hard?" He inquired, unsure as to how she wanted him to handle her.

"Yes, Malfoy, just-now. Please."

Understanding implicitly what she meant, Draco mounded his back and stuffed himself further inside of her. He felt her cunt contract around his stiff length, and with a pleased cry he slammed his lips against hers once more, drowning out their moans in each other's mouths. Hermione lifted her hips, angling to receive him better as he pounded into her.

"Malfoy-Malfoy," She panted, ripping her mouth from his. She arched her back off the bed, her moans growing high and keening as she wrapped her arms tighter around him. She clawed at his back, digging crescent-shaped grooves into the tender, pale flesh of his backside as he began to slam into her rougher than before. With each snap of his pelvis against her own, he felt himself slide deeper into her tight entrance. Merlin, this was...like nothing he'd experienced. The press of her breasts against his own; the sensation of her fingernails marking his back and her mouth hot and fervent against his own...it was what he'd always imagined sex being like. Not cold and emotionless, but like...this. Lust and passion-filled. Hot and quick; intense and desirable. He mounded his back once more, panting against her lips and slamming his hips against her own once more. He was certain he'd be covered in claw marks and bruises by morning, but he couldn't seem to find it within him to give a damn.

It was with a particularly rough jerk that Hermione pulled back from him, her eyes growing wide and astonished. He watched her closely, one alabaster hand tangling in her bushy locks as his hot breath stirred across her face. She clawed at him helplessly, her mouth twitching slightly as though she was struggling to convey something to him.

"Mal-Draco; Draco! Draco, I-" She managed, her voice high and keening. With a gasp and a moan, Draco felt her body twitch beneath him, and the proof of her release was suddenly coating his cock. She grasped at him, desperate and lost to pleasure as she succumbed to her first orgasm. The noises that fell from her lips were lust-filled and delicious to hear, and Draco continued to slam his hips against her own as she came, aiding her in riding out her orgasm before endulging with his own. His muscles were taut and his jaw was clenched tight as he rode her, and with each jerk of his hips, his hands gripped the bed sheets beneath him even tighter.

Unable to resist the urge to release himself any longer, Draco felt the budding knot behind his navel grow and build; tightening until it jerked loose. He cried out in pleasure as he felt his hot, throbbing cock twitch and release itself inside the writhing Witch. The sensation of him spilling himself inside of her elicited another moan from Hermione, and she snapped her hips against his own shamelessly as he gave way to pleasure. His eyes widened and his lips parted, unintelligable noises tumbling past his lips as he allowed himself to give way to pleasure. It was an excruciating orgasm, truly, and Draco couldn't help but feel relief as he began to wind down from such a powerful release.

Panting and restless, he slumped against Hermione, momentarily forgetting who it was that he'd engaged in such a sinful act with. He rested his head against her chest, slipping out of her and closing his eyes for a brief moment. It wasn't until he felt warm and velvety lips press a soft kiss to his temple and a pair of dainty hands massage his head that the full weight of what he'd done fell against him.

He'd fucked Hermione Granger.

And what was even worse was the realization that he'd do it again.

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><p><strong>aN: **Thank you all for taking the time to wait for me to update! I really don't have an excuse as to why it was so late this time, aside from the fact that I haven't felt much motivation to as of late. I've been looking forward to this chapter since I first started the fic, so I really hope you all enjoy it! As usual, review and let me know what you think! Hope you're all doing well!


	12. Two Halves of a Whole

**_Shades of Grey_**

**Chapter Eleven: **Two Halves of a Whole

_"They were two halves that together formed a magical whole."_

_- Dick Button_

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><p>Hermione awoke the next morning, a groggy and disoriented tangle of limbs. She was only vaguely aware of what had occurred the night before regarding her pasty-skinned companion, and for a moment her dark brows knit together in a fit of confusion as she noticed she was laying with him...bare-skinned, at that. Luckily, Malfoy was still sleeping, so she was able to blush in shame and embarrassment in private. Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, Hermione slowly untangled herself from Draco's surprisingly warm embrace, finding her clothes in a heap on the ground and picking them up. Stealing one last look at the peaceful-looking Slytherin, she tiptoed towards the bathroom, washing her dirty clothes in the basin and drying them with her wand, which she'd located on the nightstand next to Malfoy's cot.<p>

Pausing to stare at herself in the mirror, Hermione struggled to determine whether or not the morose reflection gazing back at her seemed any different. She brushed her fingertips against the soft blush of her cheek, noting that while so much had changed for her in the past twenty-four hours, she was still the same. The same curly-haired, determined, logical Witch she'd always been. And while she was perfectly aware that the loss of her virginity wouldn't have somehow altered who she was on the inside, Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. Not for what had happened, but...for how casually her body was reacting to it.

She'd slept with Draco Malfoy...had willingly been intimate with a man who had spent the better part of their school years tormenting her for her bloodline. And what was worse was the realization that she'd _initiated_ it.

Inhaling sharply, she told herself that everything would be fine. It wasn't...it wasn't that big of a deal, really. It's not as though she would be eternally indebted to him for "deflowering her", or even feel any sort of attachment to the fair-haired former Slytherin Prince. A low snort escaped her lips at the thought, and Hermione forced her swollen lips to lift into a slight, feigned smirk of sorts. Slowly, however, the sly grin faded from her lips, replaced with the queerest contortion of her mouth as she allowed reality to dawn on her.

Gripping the cool edge of the basin, she gulped a pocket full of crisp air, her hazel eyes widening slightly as bits and pieces of what had happened the day before came to her. Blurred images of her running away from the two Snatchers flooded her vision, and she swore she could still taste the bitter flavor of dirt as she came crumbling to the ground in the middle of the attack. Her fingers gripped the stone basin harder, as though she was struggling to stay on her feet. The world threatened to wither away beneath her, and Hermione dug her nails into the cool texture of the stone as her mind forced itself to visualize and code everything that had happened yesterday afternoon.

Before she was even aware of what was happening, she felt a tremor explode from her chest and spread through her body. Her fingers slipped on the slick basin, and soon she was tumbling down to the ground. She fell with a light thud, bringing her knees up and curling into herself. She buried her head in her legs, using her arms to shield herself as silent sobs choked and strangled her. She felt tears, hot and salty, trickle down her face, coating her cheeks with the proof of her weakness as she succumbed to a complete loss of control. It was only here, where she could neither be seen nor heard, that Hermione Granger allowed herself to break apart. She didn't need saving-she was hardly the type of girl to sit around and wonder when the man of her dreams would come and scoop her up. She didn't need for someone to hush her and tell her that everything was going to be alright-she deserved to know the truth, and she'd learned long ago that the truth was a complex and fragile sort of thing. The utterance of it could break the weakest of hearts; crack the strong-willed and deteriorate even a lioness's composure.

Still, she couldn't deny that the comfort of another's presence from time to time was something she craved. As strong as she tried to be, and as determined as her spirit was, she still was, after all, human. And the human heart craves affection.

She spent approximately twenty minutes in such a fashion. With nothing but her hushed sobs and shivering limbs to distract her from the feeling of her body unraveling itself. Once she'd exhausted herself, she swallowed heavily, her throat achy and scratchy-feeling after such an intense bout of crying. Licking her dried lips, she swore she could taste the dried remains of her tears against her mouth, and she wiped the remaining tears from her glossy eyes with the back of her trembling hand, deciding that there really was no use in crying anymore. After all, she, Harry, and Ron had been through far worse a predicament in the past, and she'd managed most of that better than she was handling this. Perhaps that was it, though-perhaps she'd been too dependent on the company of her best friends. Their presence had been soothing to her in times of trouble. Here she was alone; here she didn't have a comforting hand or a friendly shoulder to lean on when things got rough.

She had Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy and his condescending sneer; his elitist way of thinking, and his cold, piercing grey eyes. His...his eyes that shone in the sun like shimmering glints of silver. His smile, that was so rare but so achingly beautiful; it spread across his face like an infectious bout of pleasure, and the scarce times in which his mouth contorted itself into such a stunning expression never failed to have her smiling in response. The way he...no, no. She wouldn't do this to herself. She couldn't.

Moving to stand, she brushed the dirt off her trousers and checked her face in the mirror once. Her eyes were still slightly puffy, and her hair was a damn mess, but to be quite frank, Hermione couldn't much find it in her to particularly care. Tugging on the sleeve of her sweater, she made her way out of the bathroom, noticing that Malfoy was still sleeping peacefully from his position on the bed. Folding her arms across her chest, Hermione watched him in silence for a handful of moments, deciding that she enjoyed seeing him in such a serene state. This was the Draco Malfoy she was permitted to see every once in a blue moon-the side of him that showcased his vulnerability; his humanity. She guessed that not many people had seen as much of him. Even she had difficulty believing it sometimes.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward, allowing her arms to drop to her side. Before she could stop herself, she bent down, gingerly grabbing the blanket that was twisted around his abdomen and pulling it up, covering his pale chest as she did so. Unable to stop herself, Hermione lifted a dainty hand and brushed a lock of hair from his face, noticing once more just how achingly soft those white-blonde locks of hair were. Pulling away before she could do more damage to herself than she'd already done by relishing in his presence, Hermione turned around, heading over to the table that held all of their work thus far. She grabbed a granola bar from her bag and moved to perch on the edge of the bench. She unwrapped the bar quietly, taking a bite and looking over her writings.

She reached for a map in front of her, her fingers skimming over each place that was marked with a red "x", the ink dripping slightly and giving the entire paper the feel that someone had swiped their blood across its contents. Reaching for the quill in front of her, Hermione took another bite of her granola bar, chewing more aggressively as she brought the quill down to the clearing close to their current camp site. With flared nostrils and a decent bit of ferocity, she crossed the clearing off, reminding herself never to return to the place where she'd almost become a play toy for the Snatchers ever again.

The map was a representation of the places she and Malfoy had looked...scouring for any bit of evidence of remaining Hallow clues that they could find. Much to her dismay, their luck hadn't been working out too well thus far, but she still had hope! After all, she'd just been...distracted lately, was all. It was...it was Malfoy's fault, really! Him and his damn distracting hair, and the way he sometimes smirked at her, and his...his...either way, he was infuriating, and she wouldn't tolerate it any longer! Huffing in slight aggravation, Hermione went about studying the map closer, struggling to remember if Harry had given any indication of where he might had dropped the Stone in the letter he'd sent her a while back. She knew that he wouldn't have known-not exactly, at least. He'd been in such a fit of distress that day...they all had, really. It was a miracle that as many people had made it through the battle as they had.

Suddenly, Hermione was struck with an idea. Of course! Oh, Merlin, of-of _course_! Why hadn't she thought of it before?! Gasping with the realization that all she'd needed was directly in front of her, Hermione scrambled for the map of Hogwarts she'd placed on the edge of the table, drawing it closer and connecting it to the map of the Forbidden Forest. Her lips pressed together tightly for a moment as she assessed the two maps drawn together, allowing her hands to roam over the surface of the parchment as she struggled to find where the paths of each map would line up. She found a dotted line that led from the castle to the edge of the forest, and lined it up with the appropriately placed dotted line on the map of the Forbidden Forest. This was it! She'd been looking at only bits and pieces, when in reality she should have been looking at the puzzle as a whole!

"Malfoy!" She breathed, only half aware of the fact that she was even saying his name in the first place. Clearing her throat, she smacked her index finger against the jointed lines, growing excited as she increased the volume of her voice. "Malfoy!"

Turning around in her seat, she faced a groggy Draco Malfoy as he stirred from bed, running a hand through his hair and yawning. He was so out of it, she could tell, and Hermione was half-tempted to snap at him to wake up so that she could show him what she'd found out. When she noticed he was searching for his clothes, Hermione turned around, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. She buried her head in the work before her, determined not to turn and face him while he was consciously aware of how indecent he was. Grabbing her quill, she dipped it in a bit of the ink on the table, drawing a circle in thick, dark ink across the jointed lines, quite pleased with herself for figuring out the piece of the puzzle they'd been missing for so long.

"Hurry up, Malfoy!" She said excitedly, blowing on the ink and willing it to dry so that she wouldn't smudge it with her fingers as she prepared to explain her findings to him. Tucking a wild curl behind her ears, she turned around and noticed him sloppily pulling on a white t-shirt, yawning and scratching his lower abdomen before padding over to her. She struggled not to allow her gaze to hover over the patch of exposed, pale flesh of his hip as he scratched his stomach, running her tongue across her lower lip subconsciously. Shaking her head to clear herself of such...inappropriate thoughts, Hermione turned to sit forward in her seat, instructing that he sit across from her on the bench.

"Now," Draco began, his voice thick from sleep as he rubbed his eyes, blinking twice before focusing his gaze on her. "What the hell was so important that you had to wake me up for?"

If she had been any less excited and fueled with such an adrenaline rush, she would have found the time to be irritated with the fact that Malfoy was acting as though nothing had transpired between them. As if he hadn't taken her virginity! As if they hadn't slept together and enjoyed it! Oh, blast it all-she was thinking about it again! She allowed herself a moment of anger before composing herself, inhaling slowly in an attempt to steele herself before she tried to address the pale man seated before her.

"This is the map of the Forbidden Forest," Hermione began, using her right hand to point at the map on the right side of the table. She ran her fingers along the path of red x's, her gaze locking on his so as to make sure he was comprehending what she was communicating to him as she spoke again. "And these are all the places we've searched for the Stone. Now, the Forbidden Forest isn't exactly the...smallest of forests-"

"Really, Granger?" Draco asked sarcastically, arching one fair brow in her direction. "I had no bloody idea. Truly, thank you for your insight on the subject. Now, can I make myself some damn breakfast?"

"No!" Hermione shrieked, her bushy hair shaking wildly as she glared at him. "Pay attention, Malfoy, this is important!" Draco rolled his eyes, but leaned forward nevertheless, studying the map she'd just spent the past few minutes explaining to him. Hermione cleared her throat, sitting straight and smoothing her sweater before deciding to continue.

"As I was _saying_, the Forbidden Forest is a large stretch of land, and there's no way we'd be able to cover all of it in the allotted time it would take us to collect the Hallows before Bellatrix does," Hermione continued, feeling a bit more confidence when Malfoy nodded his head in response. "So I thought for a moment that maybe Harry could remember where he'd dropped the Stone. Of course...of course he never included any ideas of the whereabouts in specifity, but seeing as how he was so pre-occupied with meeting Voldemort, I rather suppose he didn't rea-"

"Granger, I enjoy the narration you've got going on here, but do you think you could get to the point _before_ you reach menopause?" Draco snapped, leaning back and drumming his fingers against the table top in slight irritation. Hermione glared at him, huffing her irritation before primly nodding, resisting the urge to tell him to sod off and let her finish.

"_Anyway_," She began, her voice bitter as she appraised him with a cold glare before turning her attention back to the maps placed in front of her. "I began thinking to myself about what route Harry might have taken-that would have eliminated a plethora of places we could have searched. That's when it hit me! I was looking at the Forbidden Forest by itself, when really..." She paused, her left hand sliding over to rest on the Hogwarts map, so that one hand was placed on each map. "...I should have been looking at the entire problem!"

Draco sat in silence for a moment, his silver gaze flickering back and forth between the relatively clean map of Hogwarts to the inky mess that was the map of the Forbidden Forest, and after a few minutes in which he attempted to figure out what Hermione was saying, his lips drew into a pout, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze once more.

"I'm not sure I follow. What does Hogwarts have to do with this?"

"Don't you _see_?!" Hermione exclaimed, inching forward and waving her hands sporadically. She realized she more than likely looked like a lunatic, what with her frantic hand gestures and her bushy hair a mess around her face, but she couldn't find it in her to care. Not when she'd discovered something so ground-breaking! Draco shook his head slowly, as though he were slightly wary as to what her response would be, to which Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, jabbing a finger towards the dark circle she'd made near the edge of the Hogwarts map.

"The Battle of Hogwarts took place at the school, obviously," She began, a hint of the know-it-all tone so predominant in childhood surfacing as she addressed him. "When Voldemort told Harry to meet him in the Forbidden Forest, he slipped under the Invisibility Cloak and made his way from the castle down to the Forest. Now, in the entire time in which we were at Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and myself had a specific way in which we'd use to enter the forest. We-"

"How many times did you and the rest of the bloody Trio enter that damn forest, Granger? Or go anywhere near it, for that matter?"

A hot blush rose to her cheeks, which Hermione fought, nibbling on the inside of her cheek and dismissing the urge to smack him, turning her gaze back down to the map.

"Doesn't matter," She mumbled before clearing her throat, choosing to remain on task. "As I was saying-we used to trek down to Hagrid's Hut. We visited him quite a bit there during our school years, and since his hut was on the border of the Forbidden Forest, well...it was just always the most obvious choice, you know?"

Draco nodded, and Hermione was pleased about the fact that he'd followed her thus far.

"Therefore, if my prediction is correct-which I'd bet all the Galleons to my name that they are!-then Harry would have taken this familiar path down to the Forbidden Forest when he was going to meet Voldemort. Now, that limits the path down greatly, and I got to thinking...Harry would have had to dispose of the Stone before he'd gone to see Voldemort. After all, the last thing Harry wanted was for Voldemort to get hold of any more of the Hallows. After all, he'd already had the Wand in his possession at the time. So, if I'm correct, then Harry would have dumped the Resurrection Stone in the outer lining of the Forbidden Forest, right around Hagrid's Hut-" Hermione explained, her index finger tracing the circle she'd drawn on the map connecting them.

"So that means..." Draco began, his voice slow as he processed all of the information Hermione had given him. The brunette Witch nodded once excitedly.

"We have to go see Hagrid, yes."

Draco, understanding what this meant, exchanged a look of gratitude with Hermione. She beamed at him, unable to help herself for a moment. When she realized just who she was smiling at, however, the grin disappeared from her face, and she cast her gaze downwards once more.

"Granger," Draco began after a beat of silence, and Hermione noticed that his voice was much quieter than it had been only moments before. "What happened last night?"

At his inquiry, Hermione stiffened. She struggled to focus on nothing but the swirling lines of the maps laid on the table, and instinctively she shook her head, not wanting to discuss it.

"Nothing, Malfoy. It was a mistake, alright?" She said coolly, pulling away from the table and moving to stand. She turned away from him, tucking her arms against her side and staring at the blank wall canvas of the tent ahead of her. She heard a rustling movement behind her, and could tell that Malfoy had moved to stand behind her. Luckily, though, he refrained from touching her. Merlin knows how she would have reacted if he had.

"A mistake?" He asked. There was no hurt in his tone; no anger or happiness or even a hint of hopefulness. His voice was flat...as though he were doing nothing more than merely restating what she'd just said. His lack of emotion infuriated her-he had to feel _something_ about it! Anything!

"Yes, a mistake," Hermione managed, her voice wavering slightly. She lifted a hand to brush at her cheeks as though she were wiping away tears, though she was fully aware of the fact that she hadn't been crying. As if she'd cry over Malfoy! Ridiculous.

She shook her head again, as though in response to something he'd said. But Malfoy hadn't spoken...neither one of them had.

"I just..." She began, her voice filled to the brim with suppressed emotion. "I just thought that maybe...if I tried to distract myself, then maybe I wouldn't look back on yesterday with as much disdain. I thought that...if I did it with you, then I could forget. I was...swept away in the heat of the moment and all that. It doesn't matter."

She almost hated herself for being so open with him, but the confession was tumbling past her lips before she could bother reigning it in.

At first, Malfoy didn't say anything. He stayed silent, to which Hermione couldn't decide whether or not she appreciated. On the one hand, she would have had it so that neither one of them discussed their sudden night of passion ever again. On the other, she hated feeling so confused about everything. Sometimes, she wished that complex situations like these came with textbooks. She'd always been a quick learner and an avid reader-she would have been able to handle so many things in her life differently.

But life didn't come with an instruction manual, and she couldn't prepare for anything that it threw her. That was something Hermione had been forced to come to terms with a while ago, and she sure as hell wasn't going to relive the process of acceptance all over again.

Finally, however, Draco spoke, and interrupted her tumultuous thoughts.

"Why me?"

Hermione stilled immediately, torn between the desire to explode and tell him what an idiot he was for not _getting_ it, and ignoring him completely. Finally, she turned to face him, appraising him with a hard, curious gaze for a moment before shaking her head, shrugging her shoulders slightly and feigning indifference.

"I don't know," She said quietly, the lie scorching her tongue. Draco studied her closely, as though he didn't quite believe her. Before the Malfoy Heir could be granted the chance to say something else, though, Hermione opened her mouth and spoke once more.

"Can we just...forget it ever happened?" She asked, slightly hopeful and slightly crest-fallen. She tugged on a knotted strand of hair, watching him closely as shock flitted across his features, slowly replaced with indifference. When Hermione was quite sure all hope of an agreement of sorts were lost, Malfoy cleared his throat, giving the stiffest of nods, and in the briefest of moments, Hermione felt both guilt and relief flood her system, and the battle between the two caused the queerest of emotions to overwhelm her being as Draco uttered the three words she both feared and craved for him to say.

"It never happened."

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><p><strong>aN:** Hey, everyone! I apologize for the delay in updating, but real life and writer's block tend to get in the way. I've recently started my freshman year of college, and while it's exciting and I'm definitely in love with the college experience, the work load is also a lot more extreme than a lot of what I was used to in high school. I hope all of you are doing well! Don't forget to let me know what you think, it means a lot!


	13. A Hallow, a Half-Giant, and Halloween

_**Shades of Grey**_

_*Please read the a/N at the end_

**Chapter Twelve:** A Hallow, a Half-Giant, and Halloween

"_ So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."_

_- The Tale of the Three Brothers_

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><p>Draco could easily think of a dozen different things he would have preferred to spend his time doing than be with Hagrid the Hairy Half-Human. Even when he'd been in school, the blundering oaf had pissed him off-what with his esteemed views of <em>Potter<em> and the imbecilic way in which he'd talked and acted. Draco had been warned about Hagrid and others like him by his father-perhaps that's a great deal of where his distaste came from. It had been a reaction instilled into him at a young age. Either way, the last thing he was looking forward to was spending the day with the barbarian. But he knew it was something that had to be done-Granger _had _stated that the Stone was located there.

So there really was no point in refusing, was there?

He had aided Granger in packing up the campsite in silence...something had passed between them the moment that they succumbed to their mutual desires, and while neither one of them were particularly willing to address that fact, he couldn't help but think it had shifted the state of calm they had built between them. Well, not...calm, per se, but...but something had definitely been changing before they'd gone and fucked it up with their irrational bout of intimacy. First the kiss, then the incident in the Forest, and now...this? He'd slept with a woman he'd sworn to loathe with all eternity, and the numbing realization that he'd bloody do it again if given the chance disturbed him on a deeper level than he'd like to admit.

It was with this mindset that he aided the petite Witch in packing up their campsite, pushing thoughts of the day before him from his mind. The last thing he needed to focus on was visiting with the blundering oaf who had been permitted to teach a class at Hogwarts; it brought him one step closer to the school, and while Draco hadn't stepped foot on that ground since the day the world came crumbling down around him, he'd also never suspected that the chance would ever arise again. He'd made it a goal, really, to avoid the forsaken land for the rest of his natural life, and look where the hell he was now?

He knew he was being ridiculous; he knew that the fate of the Wizarding World rested partially on his shoulders, and that he needed to bloody suck up his aggravation and move forward. Without him and Granger, the possibility of Bellatrix rising to a threatening state of power loomed over his head-he had far more pressing matters to concern himself with aside from worrying about breaking a stupid promise he'd made when he was eighteen. He knew that, much as he may hate Hogwarts and all the memories it provided him with, that returning to the outskirts of the school was a necessity. He'd endured much worse since his time in the Order, so surely he could handle something as insignificant as being forced to face the school he'd grown up in?

Yes, he could.

With that in mind, he packed up the last of his possessions, following Granger through the dense woods, looking out for lurking Snatchers or any other beasts that might have been hiding in the shadows. Despite how close the forest was to the Wizarding School he'd attended for approximately six years, that didn't make the woods any safer to travel in. On the contrary, the woods were exceedingly more...dangerous, to put it lightly, with their toxic combination of several different exotic creatures and unknown species. More than once, he could've sworn he heard the rustling of animals lurking about in the thick dankness of the vegetated area, and more than once he found himself inching closer and closer towards Granger-though whether he did it to protect himself or her, he didn't know.

After travelling for what seemed like hours, and Draco damning himself, Granger, and the entire ruddy forest for being forced to trek through it like a duo of bumbling, magic-less Muggles, he could see the outline of the Forbidden Forest looming into view. The clearing was speckled with rays of pink and orange, and as Draco's eyes cast around the sky he was now privy to viewing, he noticed that the sun was beginning its long descent into the Earth. They'd been walking all sodding afternoon? Fuck, that explained the sure swelling of his feet, he thought to himself as he stepped over a broken log, mumbling under his breath. He tugged on his collar viciously, loosening the material and nearly stumbling over himself when he heard Granger take in a sharp burst of air.

"Malfoy!" She exclaimed, her mouth growing wide. "The sun! It's...oh, Merlin, it's nearly evening, isn't it?" Draco caught her expression out of the corner of his eyes, noticing the telltale signs of worry etched onto her features-from the way her dark eyebrows furrowed together in distress to the manner in which her teeth sunk into the soft plush of her lower lip. Spending weeks alone with her in solitude really had caused him to adapt to recognizing these traits, hadn't they?

He shivered involuntarily, his stomach in knots as he forced himself not to reflect on the deeper meaning behind those words. The last thing he needed or wanted was to grow comfortable; especially with someone like Granger. Shrugging off the foreign feelings surging within him, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the desperate Witch frantically moving through the woods before him, deliberating on whether or not he should even ask what was wrong. Knowing Granger, she'd spew it out eventually. Nevertheless...

"Yeah, so?" He ventured, swerving around a rotting stump of wood and catching up to her. Damn-for someone so short, she sure moved fast as hell.

"So?!" Hermione shrieked, whipping around to face him and glaring at him with all the intensity of a woman fully convinced her partner had gone mad. He blinked twice in shock, recoiling away from her in apprehension as her nostrils flared. "Malfoy! We have to have sunlight in order to root around for the Stone, and I will _not_ allow us to be delayed another day! We're already so far behind as it is! We've been out here for _weeks_ and haven't found anything worth notice! Anything!"

Despite the fact that her fit wasn't doing anything to earn her his favor, he couldn't deny that she was correct. If they lost sunlight, it would be damn near impossible to find the Stone. From what he'd read out of that children's book including the story of The Three Brothers that Granger had stuffed in her charmed bag, the Resurrection Stone was small and dark-not exactly visible in the thick blanket of nightfall.

"Well then...we'd best get a move on, hadn't we?" Draco offered, inclining his head towards the edge of the forest, where Hagrid's hut loomed into view through the spaces between the closely-packed trees. Hermione nodded once and bounded forward, kicking up dirt in her tracks as she clutched her undoubtedly heavy charmed bag close to her, running through the forest as fast as she could with such a weight pressing down on her. Despite how pressed they were for time, Draco still found time to snicker at how utterly ridiculous she looked. Bloody good thing that she hadn't noticed; she probably would have hit him.

As Draco was catching up with her, he heard a loud, grizzly voice boom "'Ermione!" and nearly stopped dead in his tracks. Bloody fantastic; the oaf had been waiting for them.

Scowling, Draco stepped through the last bit of land of the Forbidden Forest, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden sensation of light. The grass was a delicious shade of green, and subconsciously his gaze shifted towards the large stone castle sitting on the hill before him-looking just as aged and elegant as it had in the days before its fall.

Hogwarts.

"Hagrid!" Granger exclaimed, walking towards the giant man quickly and setting her bag on the ground. She wrapped her tiny arms around him, giving him a quick hug before pulling away, brushing a strand of curls behind her ear and smiling up at him. "It's so good to see you!"

Draco forced his gaze away from the ominous building, swallowing the knot that had formed in his throat in favor of turning his gaze on the rather disgusting reunion between the groundskeeper and the heroine of Gryffindor House. His nose crinkled in discontent, and he rolled his eyes as a booming laugh bellowed from the half-giant's throat at the sight of Granger, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in impatience. The sooner they got this bloody reunion over with, the sooner they could find the damn Stone. After all, hadn't Granger been the one so adamant about them finding it as quickly as possible?

"Oh, 'Mione, you're all grown up!" Hagrid chuckled, smiling down at her.

"Hagrid, you saw me not five months ago," Hermione said with a laugh, her grin stretching from ear to ear. Hagrid heaved a heavy sigh, shaking his head frantically so that his facial hair rustled against his clothing.

"I know, I know, it's just...yer so much different than the little girl I used ter know," Hagrid sniffled, pulling a filthy-looking hankie from his pocket and patting his cheeks with it. "Why, it was only yesterday you was comin' down ter the hut with 'Arry and Ron ter see Norbert, and now yer...yer all grown up, and moved outta Hogwarts!"

Hermione gave the man a gentle smile, patting his arm with a dainty hand and reassuring him that it was good to see him again. Merlin, had he always gotten this bloody emotional?

"Granger?" Draco snapped, tapping his foot impatiently and tightening the grip he held on his bags. "As sickeningly sweet as this reunion is, do you think we could do what we bloody came for?"

"Oh...hello, Malfoy, din't see you there," Hagrid said with a sigh, though judging by the tone in which the statement was delivered, he bloody well _had_. Not that it bothered Draco, of course-the opinion of the unhygienic half-giant was of no real concern to him.

Hermione turned her gaze back to Draco, as though she'd forgotten he was there, and after a moment's worth of confusion, realization dawned on her fair features, and she turned back to Hagrid after giving Draco a proper glare.

"Oh, that's right! Hagrid, I-you remember what I Owled you, right? About how we needed to look for something around here? Something Harry sent us to find?" Hermione continued, nodding her head frantically and pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. Hagrid nodded, and Draco couldn't help but wonder why Granger wasn't telling Hagrid what it was they needed to find. Did she not trust the blundering buffoon as much as she'd let on?

Hermione sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, glancing around the land before flickering her gaze up to the sky, realizing they were quickly losing time. Her eyes lit up with the promise of an idea, and she whirled back to face the half-giant once more, stepping forward.

"Hagrid, do you-do you think we could use Fang? What we're looking for should still have Harry's scent on it, and I mean, Fang...he knows Harry, so...so do you...?" Hermione trailed off, looking up at Hagrid hopefully.

"Well, of course, 'Mione! Though I'm not too sure how great his sense 'er smell is anymore, but I 'spose it couldn't hurt! Fang!" Hagrid bellowed, cupping his beefy hands around his mouth and shouting in the direction of his hut. A few minutes later, a large, dark, droopy-faced dog padded around from the side of the house, answering Hagrid's call with a low, fierce bark. He stopped at Hagrid's feet, and the giant man patted the creature on its head lovingly, wringing his hands together before turning back to Hermione.

Hermione knelt down slightly, beaming at the sight of the old dog and rubbing behind his ears. Draco watched with minimal interest from the sidelines, sighing and tugging on a loose thread on his shirt. Hagrid gave him a sideways glance, forcing a tight-lipped smile and patting his hands against his legs in a distracted manner, as though he didn't quite know how to react to Draco's presence.

Not that he particularly _blamed_ the giant oaf, of course.

"Hello, Fang, I need your help today," Hermione cooed to the pet before standing, smoothing her sweater and turning to Hagrid once more. She parted her lips as if to speak, and then, deciding that there was something else she needed to do first, reached over into her charmed bag and began murmuring incoherently to herself as she rooted through its contents. Giving a soft noise of accomplishment, she pulled from the confines of the purse a crinkled bit of parchment, and Draco recognized it nearly instantly as the letter that Potter had sent her those weeks ago on her birthday.

He studied the scene before him closely, watching as Granger smoothed out the parchment and looked at Hagrid uneasily, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

"Will he-will he be able to detect Harry's scent, Hagrid?" Hermione asked curiously, toying with a brown curl and flickering her gaze back and forth between the letter clutched in her hand and the half-giant who stood before her. Hagrid took a moment to consider her question before nodding eagerly, patting his beefy hand against the dog's head once.

"Oh sure, 'Ermione, 'course! Ol' Fang here might be a bit rusty, but he can still pick up a scent, you can believe me," Hagrid bellowed, and Granger nodded confidently, moving towards the massive dog and crouching slightly. Her hazel eyes met his drooping ones, and she opened her mouth to speak once more.

"Fang, I need you to find something of Harry's, okay?" She articulated slowly, and Draco couldn't help but find the entire situation rather comical. Who the hell said the damn dog could even understand a bloody word she was saying in the first place? Nevertheless, he stifled the urge to snort, watching with mild interest as she slid the parchment under Fang's nose, her eyes apprehensive as the dog sniffed the paper that held remains of Potter's scent on it. After a moment of sniffing the crinkled parchment, Fang lifted his head, sniffing the air around him before slamming his nose against the forest floor. The dog clumsily trotted forward, his paws practically falling over themselves as he made his way through the forest. Hermione and Draco exchanged glances before moving to follow the dog, and Draco was nearly certain he could hear Hermione's erratic breathing over the crinkling of leaves beneath their feet.

Merlin, she really was terrified they wouldn't find the Stone, wasn't she?

After a few moments of trudging through the forest-avoiding fallen and rotting trunks and ducking beneath low-hanging branches, Fang stopped. Something akin to a snort escaped the burly dog's mouth, and Draco arched one brow curiously as the dog began sniffing the ground directly beneath him thoroughly. He gave a low bark of sorts, lifting his head and wagging his massive tail slightly. He looked towards Hermione expectantly, and hesitantly she moved forward, bending down and rooting through the thick layer of fallen leaves before producing a small, diamond-shaped stone. She stood slowly, squinting her eyes to closely inspect the small object. Tucking an errant curl behind her ears, she was careful not to turn the small shape in her hand, a low hum escaping her lips once.

"Is that...?" Draco began, his voice trailing off when he noticed that Hagrid had followed them into the forest. Slowly, Hermione pried her gaze from the stone pinched between her thumb and forefinger in favor of meeting Draco's stare. The young Malfoy couldn't help but notice how...exulted she looked.

"Yes," Granger breathed, her voice so soft that if he'd been positioned any farther away from her, he wouldn't have even heard the small proclamation. Either way, her confirmation that finally-_finally_-they had found one of the missing Hallows lifted a huge weight off his chest; a crushing anchor he hadn't even realized had been weighing him down. He exhaled in a jagging rush of breath, his shoulders slumping forward slightly as he ran a hand through his unkempt blonde hair.

It had taken far too long for them to locate this single Hallow, to be sure, but...it was progress. Fantastic progress that brought them closer and closer to their ultimate goal of victory. With the Stone secure in their possession, all they needed now was the Wand, and that wouldn't be too terribly hard to find, would it?

At least...that was what Draco hoped as he watched Granger pull a small pouch out of her bag, smiling triumphantly as she secured the Stone in its place. She drew the small cloth pouch closed, sticking it back in her purse before turning to face Hagrid. A superficial smile stretched across her tired face, and she began making small talk with the blundering idiot as they began their short trek back to Hagrid's hut. Draco tuned them out for most of the journey, not particularly caring to hear about the oaf's line of work at Hogwarts, nor did he care to listen as Granger explained how Potter and the Weasel were keeping up. It was all dreadfully boring, actually, and Draco was almost alarmed at the state of eerie calm he felt the entire walk back; shouldn't he feel happier now that they'd located the Stone? Shouldn't he be growing more and more anxious over the realization that they still had another Hallow to find and no real lead on where to find it? Why wasn't he panicking over the dead end looming straight ahead of them?

_This isn't good_, he thought to himself wearily as the small shack loomed into view. _This isn't good at all._

Shaking his head to clear his mind of such disturbing thoughts, Draco stopped the moment he noticed Hermione and Hagrid had gathered outside the entrance to Hagrid's hut, praying to Merlin that the half-giant wouldn't invite them in for dishwater tea or whatever the fuck it was he was able to afford. He stepped closer, Granger ignoring him in favor of listening to Hagrid explain something that was clearly occurring at the castle.

"...and McGonagall's been in a right state tryin' ter get Hogwarts ready fer the feast tonight! Hasn't been long since...since the war, you know, and she wants the students ter try and exist as normally as possible," Hagrid explained, his arms swinging slightly at his side as he shifted his weight from one massive foot to the other. Draco cocked one brow, struggling to remember what such a feast at the castle could have possibly been meant for.

"Godric, that's-that's right!" Hermione explained, and the sheer look of shock that occupied her features was so comical Draco damn near snickered with laugher. She always looked so bloody astonished every time she remembered something; she was most definitely a Witch whose expressions shown triumphantly on her face. Easy to read-easy to figure out...and yet still too damn complex for him to handle.

"It's Halloween, isn't it?" Hermione inquired, and Draco's brows furrowed together in disbelief. Halloween? Already? Hadn't it been the bloody beginning of October just two days ago? Time sure as hell flew by when he was cooped up with the infuriating Muggle-born; curious, really-he'd been so sure the past few months would've dragged by at an achingly slow pace. Certainly seemed to be quite the opposite, now didn't it?

"It is, yeah!" Hagrid exclaimed with a slight chuckle, pointing towards the castle. The sun had nearly finished its descent into the ground, and Draco noticed small, orange clusters of flickering flame yards away as the castle grounds lit torches for the night. He tore his gaze away from the castle, his heart thundering against his rib cage just in time to hear the half-witted half-giant invite Hermione and himself to the castle for dinner.

Shit.

"I'm sure McGonagall wouldn't mine, a'course!" Hagrid bellowed, and Hermione flickered her gaze back and forth between the gentle giant and her sour companion, a look of conflict overwhelming her face. Draco glared at her, his silver eyes turning cold the moment their gazes locked; he would do whatever it took to keep out of that castle. Adolescent promise to himself or not, Hogwarts was the last place he needed or wanted to be; the memories were still too excruciatingly fresh in his mind, and the last thing the young Malfoy desired was to be reminded of all the painful memories he had associated with that building from the last few years.

"Of course, Hagrid-that...that would be lovely, I think," Hermione consented finally, giving the bushy man a timid smile of sorts and avoiding Draco's gaze. She knew he didn't want to be in Hogwarts again, and he couldn't help but wonder if she knew the reasons behind his hesitation. But...no, no; there was no way she could possibly read his mind. No way she could possibly comprehend that stepping foot back into that castle would be like a tsunami of unpleasant emotions slapping him across the face; his stomach was already churning with the apprehension that the evening would bring. Logically, he knew it didn't really make much sense to be this nervous about visiting a school he'd attended for years. But despite this reassurance, he couldn't seem to control the aching in his throat or the clammy feeling of his hands as he wrung them together.

Refusing to acknowledge either Hermione or Hagrid, Draco turned away as Hermione bid adieu to the gigantic man, a dull ringing in his ears echoing as Hermione promised to pay Hagrid another visit as soon as she could. Silently, he began to follow the curly-haired Witch up the steep path that led to the castle, deciding he'd ignore any and all attempts she made to make eye contact with him. If she wanted to talk to him, then she'd damn well have to address him; he was still too bitterly cross with her for agreeing to eat in the Great Hall that evening. If he hadn't been so proud, he would've thrown a bloody fit and refused to go along with her.

"It's good we found the Stone," She said quietly, to which Draco gave a stiff jerk of his head in agreement. His jaw clenched as his shoes scuffed against the cobblestone, and he kept his gaze straight ahead. He tensed slightly when he felt Hermione's arm brush against his-an accident, perhaps? Either way, he focused on evening the pattern of his breathing, choosing to forget that the small touch had even occurred...or that it had sent a delicious tingle up and down the length of his arm.

Nearing the castle with every step he took, he hardly noticed Granger swerve around so that she was standing in front of him, a determined look encompassing her fair features. What the...?

"What's your problem?" She demanded, though her tone was devoid of any harsh inflexion.

"My problem?" He replied coolly, one fair brow raising only slightly. Almost as if he was ignorant as to what she was referring to. Hermione huffed in aggravation, rolling her eyes and shaking her head in a fit of determination at him.

"I can tell when you're cross with me, Malfoy; it's not as though you try to hide it," She amended, her voice surprisingly soft for someone who appeared so irritated with his very existence. Draco scoffed, contemplating veering around her and stalking off towards the castle. But that would mean he'd reach Hogwarts sooner, and a childish part of his persona was so adamantly against that, that he chose to stay in favor of arguing with her.

"Congratulations-would you like an award?" He drawled, side-stepping her obvious question.

"Well now you're just being ridiculous, Malfoy-honestly, can't you ever take anything seriously? What I mean is that-just-do you hate me now?"

The question-seemingly innocent-hung in the air like a chokehold; Draco could practically feel the atmosphere tense the moment the inquiry fled her lips. He stiffened immediately, his throat growing dry and all thoughts of the castle just a few feet away evaporating from his mind. All he could focus on was Granger-Granger and her dangerous question that overwhelmed his thoughts and gnawed at his conscious. He swallowed heavily, the act painful from the scratchiness of his throat. His palms began to perspire, but he made sure to keep his face clean of all emotion. If there was anything Draco had learned in the past few years, it was how to tame his facial expressions. In a time like this, it meant everything.

"Do I hate you?" Draco repeated, his heart hammering against his ribcage wildly. Why was her simple question getting him so bloody worked up in the first place? He glanced around quickly before settling his gaze on Hermione once more, noticing that her curious expression hadn't changed at all.

"Yes," Hermione continued, stepping forward slightly. Draco fought back the urge to back away from her, entirely uncomfortable with their sudden proximity. Hadn't she learned her damn lesson last time? The farther away they were from one another, the better.

"You're ridiculous," He stated finally, his voice a low murmur as he shoved past her. He knew that he hadn't answered her question-not in the slightest-but the more he reflected on her inquiry, the more difficult he found it to answer her in the first place. There was too much complexity in his own response to even attempt to answer, so he settled on...forgoing the question altogether.

He knew that Granger would more than likely bring the subject up again; he could only hope that it would be at some point in the distant future in which he'd had enough time to figure out his own bloody answer first.

He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and winced slightly-Merlin, here it came. Fully preparing himself for a harsh speech by none other than bloody Hermione Granger herself, no sooner had the Witch opened her mouth to speak than the two were interrupted by the silhouette of a woman standing near the entrance to Hogwarts, waving her hand and calling out to Hermione. Momentarily distracted, Granger turned her head towards the direction of the noise, smiling and jogging up the hill in order to meet the strange figure. Following her at an even pace, he was able to make out the defined figure of Hogwarts' newest Headmistress-Minerva McGonagall.

Salazar fucking Slytherin.

"Well it's a pleasure to see you, Miss Granger," McGonagall stated in that prim and aged voice of hers. It might as well have been nails on a chalkboard to Draco-he never had cared for the old bat in the first place. Judging by her evident determination to ignore his presence-much like the blundering oaf Hagrid had-the feeling was rather mutual.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, Professor," Hermione said warmly, and Draco couldn't help but note how comical it was that she still referred to her former teacher by her proper title. Odd.

"...and you as well, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall managed, giving a quick side-glance to the pale young man and nodding stiffly before returning her gaze to Hermione. Draco made no move to greet his former teacher until Granger elbowed him in the ribs. Scowling, he rubbed the offended area with one slender hand, inclining his head only slightly towards McGonagall. Not that it ruddy mattered-she'd already turned her attention back to Hermione.

"I was doing a quick patrol before the students began to eat and I saw the two of you walking towards the castle," McGonagall began again, clasping her hands together and appraising both Malfoy and Granger cordially. "I take it your travels have led you here? Have you come for the feast?"

Draco was about to ask how the hell she knew they were travelling in the first place before reminding himself that McGonagall was still a vital supporter of Potter's cause-she was probably privy to a slur of information.

"We have, yes-if you don't mind, of course," Hermione began, flailing her hands in an odd gesture of sorts. "Hagrid told us about the feast tonight, and we were just-"

"By all means, yes," McGonagall continued for her, smiling slightly at the pair and nodding her head slowly, causing the tip of her hat to flop slightly. "There's plenty of food to go around; you can both sit at the Professors' table after I announce the start of the feast." She patted her arm, looking around towards the large clock positioned outside the castle and clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"Speaking of which, I should have started by now-would the two of you follow me?"

Both Draco and Hermione nodded, exchanging a brief glance before following the elderly Witch clad in emerald robes through the front pathway and into the castle. It was one thing to fear the castle, or to even gaze at it from afar-but to be inside of it? For the first time in what felt like centuries? It sent an unpleasant shiver up and down the length of his spine, and his teeth nearly chattered together as his silver eyes soaked in the grand appearance of the entrance hall.

If anything, the young Malfoy had to give credit to those who put all of their hard work and effort into restoring the castle. There was really no difference between the castle's reconstruction than how the original structure had been framed-even the bricks looked just as aged and smoothed. He couldn't seem to tell whether or not he appreciated this uncanny reconstruction; it was both a blessing and a curse, in a sense.

Nothing could be heard at first aside from the scuffing of shoes against the stone flooring of the castle, and Draco was overwhelmed with a thousand memories flooding forth as his mind perceived the hall before him. Memories of walking through this very hall for years upon arriving at Hogwarts attacked his mind, and he focused on breathing evenly, hoping that this onslaught of remembrance would soon die down. It was bloody sensory overload, and Draco could practically envision his lean, slicked-back eleven year old self swaggering down the halls in his black cloak and surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle as they pushed past classmates in order to make it to the front of the line.

Merlin, when was the last time he'd even _thought_ about Crabbe or Goyle?

Shaking his head slightly, he paused as McGonagall stopped before the entrance to the Great Hall. Draco spent the allotted time absorbing the fine texture of the wooden doors that separated the trio from the dining hall, making sense of the designs and engravings of the different House crests as McGonagall explained where they would be sitting. Blinking back the haze that had overwhelmed his mind, he nodded in vague agreement and watched as McGonagall threw back the heavy doors to the Hall, the chatter of the students inside slowly fading to silence as their Headmistress made her way down the Great Hall. Draco and Hermione followed behind, and Draco was damn near determined to ignore what would surely have been hundreds of eyes glued to their presence. In response to Granger, he could only suspect that the students would cheer and clap and ask for her bloody autograph. The usual, irritating attention that she received for her participation in the War and her affiliation to the Wizarding World's most cherished orphan.

But him? He would be looked upon with disdain-a few Slytherins might show a bit of appreciation from their family's connections to his own (though he doubted he'd recognize anyone from his former House at this point), but he knew quite well how the world still perceived him. Defected Order member or not, he was still widely distrusted and universally disliked. For all that it mattered, the Mark that still lingered on his left forearm might as well have branded him a monster.

That's what it felt like, at least; especially with the hot glares of those younger than him boring into his very skin as he made his way down the Hall. He wanted to spit on the lot of them; though he understood, in a sense, their superficial hatred of him, it didn't lessen his urge to correct their idiocy. No one understood why he'd done what he did-it was useless to argue and pointless to worry about. It was something he'd accepted long ago, but moments like this...surrounded by hundreds of people who looked upon him with disdain...the treatment sometimes got to his head.

Choosing to ignore everyone as best he could, he made his way up the steps with Hermione, who had grown oddly silent in the time since they'd met McGonagall. Perhaps the reunion with their former place of learning had evoked a sense of nostalgia within her, as well? Either way, she was eerily quiet as they made their way to sit down at the end of the table, fiddling with the napkin set before her on the table as McGonagall made her way to the podium to speak.

"As is customary at Hogwarts, each year we celebrate Halloween with a feast, and this year is no exception-" McGonagall began, but Draco found himself distracted from her speech when he heard Granger clear her throat next to him.

"Weird, isn't it?" She breathed, her voice so low that Draco had to lean slightly closer to her just to comprehend what it was she'd uttered.

"How so?" He asked, gazing around the Great Hall and noticing that pairs of curious eyes kept flickering over in their direction. Bloody curious rats; all of them.

"Seeing McGonagall up there...you know, instead of..." She paused, cutting herself off and clearing her throat. Draco froze immediately, struggling to determine whether or not she was insinuating something about his character. It was, after all, partially his fault that the Golden Trio's favorite Professor was now rotting six feet under.

"I see," Draco responded curtly, clearing his throat and digging his nails into the corner of the table. He wanted to leave-he wanted to leave _now_.

"No, I didn't-I didn't mean it like that, I was just-" Granger amended, fumbling over speech breathlessly. She attempted to appear calm, though Draco could tell she was starting to panic by the way her body shook slightly. She was about to speak again when they were interrupted by the Headmistress introducing them to the school.

"-and joining us tonight are two alumni and war veterans, former Gryffindor Hermione Granger and former Slytherin Draco Malfoy-I trust that we'll all welcome them warmly and commend them for their efforts during and after the War," McGonagall concluded, and slowly, the room began to fill with the sound of polite clapping. The sound was deafening; ringing in his ears and swallowing him whole as the sound of their forced clapping on his behalf filled the room.

Hermione gave a shaky smile to the audience, waving meekly to the crowd of students before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Draco gave a small nod of sorts, ignorant of how to behave in such a situation.

Once the clapping had died down and McGonagall had taken her position at the head of the teachers' table, the chatter began once again as students dug into their plates. Draco reached forward, helping himself to a portion of mashed potatoes and grabbing a bit of chicken and a roll of bread. He busied himself with drizzling gravy onto his potatoes and buttering his dinner roll, chewing on the inside of his cheek and ignoring the Witch seated next to him; her commentary only moments before was still far too fresh in his mind.

"Draco," Hermione said quietly, and Draco nearly froze as his first name rolled off her tongue with such ease. "I'm sorry, I wasn't...implying anything about Dumbledore's death. Not about you."

Frozen with his dinner roll in his hand, Draco stared down at his plate for a moment, processing his thoughts on the matter before turning slightly so that he could face her.

"I didn't want to come here tonight," was all he said in response.

"I know," She mumbled.

"Then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you agree to bring us here?" He asked, slightly desperate.

Hermione inhaled sharply, setting the butter knife she held in her hands down daintily on the edge of her plate, brushing her fingers against her cloth napkin and nibbling on her lower lip nervously.

"Sometimes, Malfoy, you need to conquer your fears," She answered slowly, as though she was testing out her words and struggling to determine whether or not they sounded right when strung together."Whether or not you want to."

"Is that a Gryffindor philosophy?" He sneered, not at all pleased with her response.

"No, it's my philosophy."

"Perhaps you should take your own advice, then," Draco snapped in a low hiss, angrily picking up his spoon and scooping up a bit of his mashed potatoes. His food was nearly untouched, and he realized as he poked at the steaming pile of potatoes just how ravenous he was; had he even eaten that day? He couldn't seem to recall.

"Take my own advice?" Hermione sputtered, and out of the corner of his eye Draco could tell she was struggling to refrain from folding her arms across her chest in a fit of agitation. The thought damn near brought a smirk to his lips. "What is _that_ supposed to mean, Malfoy?"

"I think you know _exactly_ what I mean, Granger," He hissed, his nose crinkling slightly. He stuffed a portion of potato into his mouth, savoring the taste and swallowing before licking his lips. He knew he'd infuriated her, and that was all fucking fine and dandy with him-how _dare_ she insinuate that he feared Hogwarts. Even worse-how dare she go as far as to _force_ him to "overcome" them, or whatever the hell it was she'd meant by that little remark.

She was...absolutely, positively infuriating, and if they hadn't been in a room full of former teachers and students, he would've bloody screamed at her for saying something so directly insulting.

"You-I just-don't talk to me!"

"Fine by me."

Scowling, Draco viciously tore into his food, not even bothering to hide the scowl that was now prominent on his features. Who was he to give a fuck if the others saw him angry and sour? It wasn't as though he'd been a particularly cheerful kid during his stay at Hogwarts, and he wasn't known for being benign in the first place, so really-how much of a surprise would his current attitude be? None, he guessed.

They both ate in a tense sort of silence-though the Great Hall buzzed around them with the chatter of people engaging in pleasant discourse, neither serpent nor lioness even bothered to utter the simplest of phrases to the other. It was a bitter frame of time which Draco felt stretched on at an achingly slow pace, and he was damn near ready to jump for bloody joy by the time everyone had finished their desserts and McGonagall had dismissed them.

Moving from his seat, Draco brushed a few crumbs off his trousers and straightened his collar, ignoring Hermione's existence entirely in favor of checking to make sure his shrunken suitcase was tucked safely within the confines of his pocket and making his way down the steps. He followed behind the rest of the students who were shuffling out, staring straight ahead in order to avoid meeting any of their curious and judgmental gazes.

He had no idea whether or not Granger was behind him, and at this point he didn't particularly give a damn. She could stay angry with him for the entire evening, for all he cared. Scoffing, he stuffed his hands deep within the confines of his pockets, turning around once he'd reached the entrance of the Great Hall and watching as McGonagall and Granger walked through the Hall at a rather slow pace, their heads bent together slightly as they appeared to be engaging in a rather animated discussion. He cocked his head to the side slightly, pursing his lips and wondering what the hell they were talking about.

"...that's really very kind of you, though our stay won't be very long," Hermione explained as she grew within earshot, and Draco grew stiff at once. What did she mean...? Merlin, she couldn't have...

"You and Mr. Malfoy are welcome to stay as long as you both shall please," McGonagall continued, stopping once the pair had reached Draco at the entrance to the Great Hall. His gaze swept between the two at an almost frantic pace, desperate to comprehend what they were saying.

"Malfoy," Hermione breathed, finally forcing herself to look at him. "Professor McGonagall has been generous enough to invite us to stay in one of the school's vacant suites until we can contact Harry and discuss our next course of action."

"Is that so?" Draco replied curtly, his grey eyes growing stony as they locked onto her hazel ones. He would've thought she'd done it out of spite, but the slight pleading in her gaze seemed to suggest otherwise.

She almost seemed sorry.

"Yes," Hermione said quietly, her voice barely carrying over to him. "That's so."

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><p><strong>aN:** Hey, everyone! I hope you're all doing well. First and foremost, I'd like to thank Amanda and Majo for the beautiful things they created for _Shades of Grey_ recently! I was quite touched, and wanted to thank you both in this chapter! This chapter's a bit longer than how I usually write them because I had a lot to try and fit in, but I wanted to try and complete it before Halloween. I know it ends in an odd sort of way, but that's because the next chapter is going to be connected to this one in a specific sense. Anyways, I really appreciate you all reading; it means a lot! I love to hear what you all think of the story, so if you could review it would mean a lot to me!


	14. Broken Confessions

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Thirteen:** Broken Confessions

_"It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone."_

_- Marilyn Monroe_

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><p>There were few things about Hogwarts that Hermione Granger didn't like. Despite all the trouble that had come with the school, this institute had been her haven growing up-she learned everything within the aged walls of this castle, and anything she didn't learn in class, she checked out of the library and informed herself on. It was a beautiful school, really-magnificent entirely on its own and regal in the most sophisticated sense of the word. It was more than she'd imagined as an ecstatic eleven year old girl, and each year that she'd returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her fascination with the established boarding school never faded or ceased.<p>

It wasn't perfect. Granted, nothing ever was, but somehow-through its flaws-Hogwarts had been perfect for _her._ Imperfectly wonderful. It had been homage to her own world of magic, and everything about it was worth remembering. The good, the bad, everything in-between. All of it.

But despite that-despite the memories that Hogwarts brought her-Hermione couldn't deny that there was something...peculiar about staying here. She felt as though her time in the castle was expired, if that made even the smallest bit of sense. She'd gone through the motions of her education; she'd lived and learned to the fullest. She wasn't meant to be here anymore-she was supposed to have moved on. Taken up a job and bought a nice flat in London. And while she did, technically, have those things...here she was. Back at square one.

It was these thoughts that kept her up that night; tossing and turning in the vain attempt to get even an hour or two of sleep. She knew she'd be exhausted come morning, and made a mental note to ask for the largest brew of coffee Hogwarts had on staff and chug the contents right out of the pot if it would help to keep her awake. Her mind was frantic; all over the place with memories of her time spent at the school, fear that the Stone would somehow be discovered among their possessions and stolen (it was, after all, a rather small object), and speculation as to where the Wand could be. The Cloak was safe with Harry, The Stone was tucked away into Hermione's charmed bag (she'd checked to be sure at least half a dozen times in the last two hours alone), so that just left...the Wand. One third of what they needed, which in retrospect didn't sound too monumental, but with power such as the Elder Wand, well...it meant a hell of a lot.

It meant everything.

It was nearing two in the morning when Hermione decided she could toss and turn no longer. Groaning inwardly, the Witch pulled herself up into a sitting position, brushing her frizzy hair out of her face and tucking an errant curl behind one ear. She exhaled in a puff, blinking a few times as he eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room; illuminated only by the shafts of moonlight that slipped through the window cracks behind the curtain. Tossing the covers off her legs, she moved to stand, pushing away from the bed and making her way across the room to the windows. The room was quaint; traditionally furnished and well-kept, from the looks of it. McGonagall had given both her and Malfoy a suite to share, and Hermione thanked Merlin when she discovered upon entrance that it was broken up into two bedrooms-separated by a mahogany door. It allowed each of them the privacy they so desperately needed. Especially given the...state of things between them. How awkward and uncomfortable she felt in his presence.

The floor was cold, and Hermione shivered as she tugged on the sleeves of her sweater, padding across the room and moving towards the heavy curtain that hung in front of the windows. With a dainty hand, she drew the velvet curtain back, peering out into the dark silence that flooded Hogwarts at night. The air outside seemed still; in the distance, she could see the lines of trees along the forest and grounds of the school ruffle slightly, indicating a faint breeze outside. The moon hung in the sky-bright, white and brilliantly illuminating the world around her. The night sky was basking in the moon's milky glow; a soft hue spreading across the land and casting shadows over everything. It was beautiful, truly, but Hermione couldn't seem to think of it as anything but lonely. Dark and cold and lonely was the world at this time of night, when everyone was sleeping and the Earth was in its solitude and peace.

It unsettled her more than she was willing to admit.

Her eyes skirted over to the door that connected her room to Draco's, the urge to walk towards it and throw the separator open growing stronger with every passing moment. She couldn't explain why she felt the desire to talk to him-to be near him-but she found that now, in her most vulnerable state with the moon's pearly hue casting over her figure and spilling across the stone floor of the castle, that she wanted to be near him. It was irrational and ridiculous and everything she'd told herself she didn't need. And yet...she needed to see him. She needed to make sure that he was okay; that he wasn't still upset with her for having promised McGonagall that they'd stay at Hogwarts for the night. She could only imagine why the youngest of the Malfoys wished to be as far away from the school as possible; she didn't want to assume anything, but at the same time, her curiosity was threatening to consume her. Why was he so against staying here-even if for the night?

Curiosity getting the best of her, Hermione cast one more glance in the direction of the school yard, her eyes sweeping across the deserted landscape before allowing her grip on the curtain to fall. The heavy velvet curtain slid in front of the window once more, cutting off the light that had filled the room and basking her in darkness once more. Parting her lips slightly and swiping her tongue across the soft plush of her lower lip, Hermione glanced around her room, her eyes making out the dark and shadowy outlines of the furniture occupying the room. She spotted the nightstand a few feet to her right, and shivering slightly, the young Witch made her way towards the wooden end table, feeling for her wand. Her fingers grazed the intricate handle of her weapon, and she exhaled a sigh of relief upon locating the wooden instrument. Her fingers curled around the cool wood of her wand, and she kept her arm tucked securely to her side, making her way across her room and moving towards the door that separated her from Draco.

Merlin, she was going to end up regretting this decision, wasn't she?

Inhaling sharply, she lifted the hand that wasn't gripping on to her wand, hovering against the door before rapping softly once, twice, three times.

No response.

She hesitated for a moment, deliberating on whether or not she should even attempt to enter his side of the apartment. What if he was sleeping? Or worse yet...what if he was awake and choosing to ignore her? The last thing she wanted was to start another fight, especially when things between her and her partner were already...tense enough as it was. She stood for a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and nibbling on her bottom lip indecisively. Oh, to hell with it! All of it! She was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake! She didn't...she didn't get fretful and fearful over things like disturbing Draco Malfoy's peace! With this in mind, she stood straighter, exhaling once before sliding her hand down to the brass knob, twisting it and allowing the door to creak open slowly. She peered into the darkness that was Malfoy's room, struggling to locate the shadowy outline of his bed. Once she'd found it, she slipped inside his room, leaving the door behind her cracked as she made her way towards his bed, her hands growing clammy at the thought of waking him up and being shouted at for invading his privacy.

Merlin, was it just her, or was it bloody burning up in here?

Clearing her throat lightly, Hermione's eyes glanced across the bulky shadow that belonged to Draco's bed, noting with a bit of confusion that...it was empty.

_Empty_? But how? Where could he be?!

Her heart hammered violently against her chest; fear and anxiety over the absence of Malfoy flooding her system, much to her dismay. She had no idea what it was that caused such a reaction-her compassionate nature, perhaps? A feminine sort of impulse?-but Hermione was terrified. A handful of hours ago, she'd stiffly bid goodnight to her pale-haired accomplice, and now...now this? Just...gone? Her heart was beating so bloody fast she was almost certain it was going to explode from her chest, and her forehead broke out into a slight sweat as her frantic eyes searched his apartment, muttering a hysteric "Lumos" and running about the length of his rather small room. She searched everywhere for him, but to no avail. He was gone.

Just...gone.

"Malfoy?" Hermione whispered, her throat aching with the mere utterance of his name. She leaned back against the wall, using the hand that wasn't maintaining a firm grip on the handle of her wand to brush her rebellious curls from her face. If he wasn't in his half of the suite, and couldn't be found in hers, then...he had to be somewhere around the castle. His suitcase had been enlarged and was lying in the corner of the room, so he couldn't have gotten very far. And the likelihood of someone sneaking into the castle and abducting him was slim to none-protection enchantments and security had been increased tenfold since the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War. The only reason she and Draco had been permitted entrance was because Hermione had been sensible enough to inform Hagrid of her presence before she and Draco had arrived at the hut.

Godric, had that really only been a handful of hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

_Come on, Hermione, figure it out_, She thought to herself bitterly, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and causing a million stress marks to crinkle her forehead. She clenched her jaw, drawing her hand into a fist and pressing it against the middle of her forehead. If he wasn't here nor there, where the hell could she be? Her hand fell to her side, and she took in a heaving gulp of air, focusing all of her energy on figuring out where the youngest Malfoy could possibly be hiding out at.

The Slytherin Common Room? No, she thought, shaking her head slightly-the password would have changed by now. Besides, there would be no real reason for him to revisit it-it wasn't as though he had anyone from his former House that he wanted to keep in touch with. Everyone of their age had already left the school. What could it be, then? The Potions classroom? She nearly groaned at the thought-that was a ridiculous suggestion. He might have had a proclivity for the subject, but why would he have wandered off to the classroom in the middle of the bloody night? It had to be something that held some sort of meaning to him...something that he either wanted to remember or strove to forget.

Realization dawned on Hermione in that instant, hot and persistent as an epiphany coursed through her veins, aching and pulsating and brilliant. Her eyes shot open and a light gasp escaped the young Witch. She didn't know what awaited her at the end of this hunch, or even if it was anywhere close to being correct, but...but if she was right...if her suspicions were correct, then she knew _exactly _where to find her lost partner.

Feeling adrenaline pump through her veins, Hermione jogged from Draco's room back to her own, strengthening the amount of light that shone from the tip of her wand, rummaging through her charmed bag and grumbling to herself as she struggled to receive what she sought for. Coming across a pair of slippers, she exhaled in relief and slipped them on, grateful for the warmth they provided her near-frozen toes with. Brushing her hair off her shoulder, she then made her way to the door that led to the corridor of the tower they'd been placed in, opening it after a moment's hesitation and glancing up and down the corridor. The portraits hanging on the wall were all sleeping rather peacefully, but there was no sign of human life up and down the hall. Silently, she shut the door behind her, pausing for a moment before decisively taking a left, making her way down the corridor and struggling to make as little noise as possible.

"Put that damn light out!" came the gruff bark of one of the portraits, and Hermione murmured a sincere apology before dousing her wand. She knew better than to upset the portraits-soon all of them would stir and demand she turn down the light on her wand. Her slippers scuffed against the floor of the castle once or twice as Hermione made her way through the familiar castle, turning right here and left there as she made her way towards her destination. She didn't have much worry for someone discovering her-she wasn't a student anymore, after all; how much trouble could she get in for being caught out of bed, really?

Nevertheless, the young woman was certain to keep as quiet as possible. The area she'd supposed Malfoy had wandered off to wasn't too far away, and it was with a determination to discover him (though for what particular reason she was so keen on finding him, she didn't exactly know why) that she made her way through the castle. Pausing at the bottom of a flight of stairs, Hermione craned her neck and looked up into the blackness that overwhelmed the stone steps. The tallest tower in Hogwarts. The tower that looked over the sky and allowed people to observe the stars; to appreciate the scenery of the ancient castle and appreciate the beauty of this place for all it was worth. The tower she'd studied in, the tower she'd snuck up to with Harry their first year in an attempt to safely deliver Norbert to Ron's brother.

The tower that would probably mean more to Draco than anyone to else at the school.

Steeling herself, and praying to Merlin that the Gryffindor courage she was so recognized for would hold out, and her legs of lead soon began to carry her up the winding path that led to the tower. Her fingers brushed against the stone walls of the cramped and narrow stairwell, and more than once Hermione feared her legs would give way beneath her and she'd tumble down the length of the steps. When at last she reached the top, her eyes swept across the landscape of the tower; dark shadows were cast across the area, only illuminated by the shine of the moon that hung so brilliantly above them. A slight breeze filled the area, and Hermione took a large gulp of fresh air, her hazel eyes falling on the lean, slender silhouette of a man standing across from her. His back was turned to her, and he appeared to be hunched over the railing of the tower, looking out into the opening that it provided and gazing down at the world around him.

She couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd been up here. Had he ventured to this wing of the school on the Battle of Hogwarts, or had he avoided it like the plague? She gingerly took a step forward, hoping that she'd gone unnoticed thus far so that she could study him further. Swallowing the knot that had begun to form in her throat, Hermione watched as he shifted slightly, leaning his weight on one leg as he stared out at the world around them.

Her lips parted slightly, as if to call out for him, but something stopped her. She wasn't sure if it was a fear that he would cast her away, or out of courtesy and respect, but she stayed quiet as she silently made her way across the tower towards him. It wasn't until she'd joined him by the railing, hesitantly placing her hands on the metal rail and craning her neck to look at him that he acknowledged her presence. A part of her wondered if he'd known she was there all along. Malfoy was, after all, much more observant than he led on. It unnerved her a bit, if she was being completely honest with herself.

"It's a bit chilly out," She commented softly, folding her arms around her chest and tucking them closer to her, hoping to keep warm as a cool breeze swept through the early November air. She resisted the urge to grind her teeth together, instead glancing over at his rather blank features and waiting for him to speak in kind to her statement.

"I suppose," was all he stated, the words coming out in a small murmur; almost as though he was...distracted. But how distracted could he be, really? They were the only two creatures up here on the Astronomy Tower, after all. Unless...his thoughts were dominating his being so entirely that it hindered his ability to even communicate properly? Or, more likely, he didn't wish to be disturbed. He didn't want her there.

_ That_ unnerved Hermione more than anything else tonight had.

"What are you doing up here?" She inquired gently, finding that the question was too fierce and intense for her to simply ignore. Rather than answer her directly, Draco grew silent for a few minutes, his gaze dropping down to his hands, which were clutching the cool railing fiercely.

"Just thinking," He replied, his voice hardly louder than a hushed whisper. Hermione nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip and struggling to come up with something intelligent to say in response to something so...evasive and vague. He wasn't the most skilled in the art of conversation, that much had always been certain about him.

"You know..." He began suddenly, his voice husky after a proper lack of conversation. Hermione stilled against him, watching him with wide eyes in fear that if she moved even a fraction of an inch, he would be distracted from his speech and cease to talk once more. She felt like she was addressing a fragile, delicate sort of creature; as though if she moved the wrong way or said something improper, he'd snap in front of her very eyes and break into a thousand pieces.

"I haven't been up here since that day," He continued, and Hermione's brows crinkled together slightly in order to listen as he spoke. "Back in sixth year...the day that Dumbledore...died."

"Oh," was all that Hermione could manage to say, her hands curling into fists from where they were tucked against her, and she wrapped her arms around her more tightly. "Not even, uhm...not even during the battle?"

"_Especially_ not during the battle," He breathed, his voice wavering slightly.

"Malfoy," Hermione mumbled, his surname tumbling past her lips ungracefully. She scooted closer to him subconsciously, her hands moving to grip the rail in front of her. Slowly, her right hand slid closer to his second, and she swore she could feel the erratic pounding of her heart against her chest; the beating filled her being-it overwhelmed her and rushed through her ears in a fast, uneven sort of beat. If he moved any closer, she was sure to combust right then and there! "You don't still...it wasn't your fault-that night."

Draco only snorted in retort.

"What happened that night, just-you weren't the one who killed Dumbledore," She continued softly, her throat aching at the mention of her former Headmaster. "I don't-I can't pretend to know how you felt, or what it was that must have been going through your mind. I wasn't there, so I can't...defend you, or defend what happened. Dumbledore's gone now, but not by your hand. No, I just...I go by what Harry told me about that evening."

"Potter," Draco grumbled, his voice strained as he choked out his school nemesis' surname. "I'm sure he told you such _wonderful_ things about that night." Hermione grew silent for a moment, her lips pressed together thoughtfully as she pondered an accurate reply to his bitter statement.

"He told me you were lowering your wand," She breathed, the words barely ghosting past her lips. But he could hear him-she was sure of it, based on the way his body grew rigid next to her own. "He told me what Dumbledore said to you. You might be many things, Malfoy-you're arrogant and conceited; hot-tempered and prejudiced against anyone who differs from you. You're full of faults, just like any other human being. There's a lot of things I can call you, Draco...but a killer isn't one of them."

Acting entirely on instinct and throwing caution to the wind, Hermione's hand slid closer to his own, and she moved to place her hand on top of his in a gentle and mildly affectionate manner. He flinched initially at the touch, but after a few moments of her dainty and warm hand pressed against his larger and more masculine one, she slowly began to feel the muscles in his hand relax; almost as if he was giving in to desire and the security of her touch.

"Why are you doing this?" He inquired suddenly, turning his face so that he could gaze down upon her. Slightly startled, Hermione blinked a few times in rapid succession, her lips twisting into a slight frown as she assessed his rather vague sentiment.

"Doing what, sorry?"

"_This_," He pressed, using the hand that wasn't resting beneath her own to gesture to her. "Saying these things to me. Especially after we...you know..." He trailed off, leaving the rest of his sentence up to the imagination for interpretation.

It didn't take a genius to understand what he was referencing to.

"I...I don't know," She answered honestly, shaking her head sadly and supplying him with a soft and shuddering sigh. "I'm supposed to stay away from you when we aren't working. Be infuriated at myself, you know, and all that-I'm supposed to worry about nothing but this mission, and while it is what dominates my thoughts all of the time, I can't help but..." She paused, her words trailing off as she felt her throat swell shut with an excess of emotion.

"...What, Granger?"

"...I can't help but find myself thinking about you," She confessed, her eyes sliding down to gaze at their hands. Hers, small and delicate, placed on top of his own. Her lips parted slightly, and Hermione idly traced her tongue against the soft plush of her lower lip, feeling her blood pulsating in her veins and filling her cheeks with a rosy sort of tint. She shouldn't have said that-a bloody rookie mistake, that's what that was! Feeling embarrassment flood her system, she snatched her hand away from his, exhaling in controlled bursts of air and bringing her hand to her chest, clutching at her chest and willing the pounding ache and thudding sensation to dull down. She was nearly certain that Malfoy could hear her heart-fluttering wildly against her rib cage and shaking her entire being. How could he not?

So lost in her own thoughts, Hermione almost didn't hear Draco speak up. In fact, if they hadn't been as close in proximity as they were, she doubted she would have comprehended anything he said.

"I have a girlfriend," was all he said. She felt her heart sputter slightly from within her chest, an aching and sinking feeling encompassing her. She had no right to be upset; no right to feel the slightest bit disappointed-because really! What was there to get upset over in the first place?! And yet...yet, she couldn't deny that it was there; a very present and tangible sort of ache in her chest.

But why?

She remembered Astoria Greengrass, of course; not initially, otherwise...things between her and Malfoy more than likely wouldn't have occurred, but upon remembrance that he was, in fact, a taken man, Hermione remembered the younger Witch. She hadn't known Astoria in school, what with the young woman being two years below Draco and herself, but she'd seen her at a few Ministry and Order events hosted after the conclusion of the Battle of Hogwarts. She was...undoubtedly pretty, so to speak; elegant and graceful in her well-bred appearance, and upon recognition that she was Draco's significant other, Hermione felt something akin to jealousy swell in her chest and spread through her being.

But she...she had no reason to be jealous. Right?

"-But I haven't thought about her at all since we've been...alone," Draco continued suddenly, his voice hesitating on the last word. Hermione turned to look at him once again, her brows drawing together and her face clouding in bemusement as she struggled to comprehend what it was Malfoy was attempting to convey to her.

"I-you-you haven't?" Hermione breathed, inhaling a shuddering breath and angling her body to face him. Draco did the same, their bodies mirroring one another in position as he gazed down upon her. Something in the air seemed to shift and change; the atmosphere was filled with a static sort of electricity, and Hermione swore that the tension would burst any moment.

Merlin, had it gotten warm up here, or was it just her?

"Not at all...that's got to mean something awful, doesn't it?" Draco continued, his voice a bit crisper this time than it had been only moments before. "But it's like...everyone expects us to end up together, you know? Everyone expects us to live up to the cliché Pureblood expectations and...get married, but I don't...I don't love her."

He...he didn't love her. He didn't love Astoria Greengrass, and Hermione-oh, _Merlin_.

"What are you trying to say, Draco?" She managed, his first name sounding heavy on her tongue.

"Fuck, Granger, I don't...I don't know," He stated in exasperation, lifting a hand to run through his white-blonde locks. "All I know is that...I haven't thought about her-not once. But then there's you, and your bloody...infuriating presence that has me thinking about you when I'm not supposed to, and I can't make a damn bit of sense of any of it. None o0f it, Granger, because the things I should think about her, I feel-" He allowed the rest of his statement to choke off, hanging in the air unfinished. He stared at her with a look of exasperation, his grey eyes widening and his lips parting slightly as he observed her. A slight breeze pervaded the Astronomy Tower, ruffling their clothes and hair as Draco allowed his unspoken confession to ring through the tense air between them, magnifying everything Hermione felt by tenfold.

Before Hermione could appropriately assess this...flood of information and process everything that had just occurred between herself and the youngest Malfoy, Draco moved forward, his hands sliding to cup her face with his slender, slightly callused hands, and pressed his lips against her own. Hermione inhaled sharply at the first sign of contact, his lips soft as they brushed against her own. After an initial moment's shock, Hermione melted into the kiss, her mouth working against his own in response. She shivered against his hands, the touch scorching her and setting her bones alight with a fierce sort of need. Hesitantly, Hermione lifted her hands to wrap around Draco's neck, threading in the silken blonde strands at the nape of his neck as she kissed him in response.

It was beautiful. She never thought she'd use such an adjective to describe a kiss, but that's exactly what it was-beautiful. His masculine frame felt like it was made for hers; all sharp angles and contours that melded effortlessly against her softer and more feminine frame. They'd kissed before, to be fair, but she still felt as though Malfoy knew exactly what to do. His mouth was heated and fervent against her own, and after a few moments of snogging, his lips parted and his tongue snaked out to flick against the sensitive crease between her lips. Hermione obliged immediately, opening her mouth and granting him access into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. She gave a soft moan in response as she felt the strong muscle of his tongue curl and twist around her own, struggling for dominance as he deepened the kiss between them. Hermione, feeling a familiar and warm tingling sensation build in her abdomen and spread through her limbs, clutched to her fair-haired partner tighter, her fingers fisting into the soft locks of his hair as she tugged him flush against her.

Nothing had ever felt as good as this-Hermione was almost certain of it, no matter how...clandestine and wrong it was supposed to be, kissing Malfoy felt _right _somehow.

Just when Hermione felt as though she was about to explode, Draco pulled away from her, releasing his grip on her face and staggering back a few inches. Nothing but the sound of their labored breathing filled the air around them-Malfoy dragging his tongue across his kiss-swollen lips and gazing at Hermione with wide and confused eyes (an image which Hermione surely mirrored in her own expression). The two stared at one another in the same dumbstruck fashion for a few moments, and just when Hermione felt as though she couldn't handle the silence any longer, Draco opened his mouth to speak.

"I-I need to go," He breathed quickly, glancing around the Astronomy Tower to assure himself that he hadn't forgotten anything. He moved across the expanse of the Tower quickly, pausing only once to glance back at her before moving to descend the staircase, leaving Hermione alone and shocked in the aftermath of their rather heated snogging session.

Alone, and more inclined to follow him than ever before. But she didn't-she couldn't. For despite what Malfoy had said; despite what he'd revealed to her, and despite the fact that he'd kissed her so suddenly and so passionately, Hermione knew in her heart that she couldn't follow him. For as much as she wanted to; for as desperately as she wanted him in that moment, he belonged to someone else.

He'd always belonged to someone else.

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><p><strong>aN:** Well guys, NaNoWriMo's over, and so is my first semester of college! Things have been really hectic lately, but I'm glad I was finally able to sit down and finish this chapter before Christmas. I hope you've all had a wonderful year, and whether or not you celebrate something during this season, I hope it goes well for all of you! As usual, your thoughts are always appreciated! I hope you like the chapter; it's more of character development than anything else, but I have big plans for the next few chapters! Well, don't forget to review, and I hope you all have a great end of the year!


	15. Humanity

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Fourteen:** Humanity

_"You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty."_

_- Mahatma Gandhi_

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><p>When he was younger, Draco often times linked emotions to different colors. A deep blue, for instance, made him think of sorrow so aching and tangible that he swore it would rip through his very core. A vibrant red reminded him of anger so fierce and blistering that it was scorching to the touch. A shimmering shade of silver was linked to his childhood and heritage, and therefore he associated the light color with propriety and class. For all the colors on the wheel, Draco was certain he could find some sort of emotion or memory to link it to; it was the easiest way for him to identify when he was feeling when he was younger. But now, as he went about preparing himself for the day in a numbing fashion, he found that for all he was worth, he couldn't find any shade of color accurate enough to describe his current state. There wasn't a color in existence that correctly portrayed what he felt whenever he looked at <em>her<em>; what happened to him when their fingers brushed or their lips whispered secrets to one another. For the first time in his life, Draco was at a complete loss to decipher himself, and that bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

Because for all it was worth, and for how much he'd struggled in vain, there didn't seem to be an emotion to explain what he felt for Hermione Granger.

Maybe he was just over-thinking things-perhaps there was a simple solution to this problem that he couldn't see because of how perplexed he'd been lately. But despite the amount of times in which the pale Wizard had struggled to remind himself of such a fact, he found it impossible to believe. There was something about the way he felt during and after their...interactions that left him foggy-headed and bemused, and there was no way that anything simple could be derived from such an astonishing reaction to her presence. But, as per usual, Draco chose to ignore his emotions for the time being-he was, after all, particularly skilled in shutting down that part of his personality in favor of moving forward. It had been one of the things that helped him get through school all those years ago, and it would help him get through this mission.

Really, it was the only option he had left.

So it was with a fierce sort of determination that Draco finished lunch in his room and completed preparation for their meeting today. He then exited the small room he'd been permitted to stay in at Hogwarts in favor of clomping down the tower's steps rather noisily. He focused on nothing but the patter of his loafers against the aged stone floor of the castle, breathing in and out and struggling to center all of his energy on what he and Granger had planned for today-delivering the Stone to Potter.

It had been a rather unanimous decision, really-neither Draco or Hermione felt comfortable possessing something so small and significant while on the move; Hermione was afraid it would get stolen, and Draco was worried they'd end up losing it. Either way, keeping the Resurrection Stone while there was still one Hallow lost out there wasn't the most...intelligent idea, so the day after their arrival at Hogwarts, Granger had composed a letter to Potter explaining that they'd successfully obtained the Stone, and that they wished for him to Floo to Hogwarts in Headmistress McGonagall's chambers at roughly three in the afternoon the following day. They hadn't heard back from him yet, but Hermione was thoroughly convinced it was a good idea to wait an hour or so in McGonagall's office for him. Perhaps he thought it was unwise to write back in case someone had intercepted the message, or maybe he just expected them to be waiting for them.

Either way, Draco found it bloody irritating. What if the idiot orphan never showed up? What if they waited around and wasted another day of idleness because Scarhead couldn't be arsed to show up to a meeting on time? He snorted at the thought his upper lip curling into a snarl as he made his way down one of the school's vacant corridors. One thing was for damn sure-if Potter didn't show up today, Draco was sure as hell going to say something to him about it.

As he neared McGonagall's office, he began to think about what had happened the night before last...it had been over twenty-four hours since Granger had found him alone on the Astronomy Tower. Roughly twenty-four hours since they'd kissed, and a bit over a day's worth of time since he'd admitted out loud for the first time that he hadn't even thought about Astoria since he and Granger had set out on this mission together. It had been something he'd refused to acknowledge for quite some time; sometimes at night, alone in his cot in the tent they shared back in the woods, he'd brush off the nagging thought and tell himself that it was simply because he hadn't had the time to think of anything but their mission. But that wasn't true, and he knew it full well. He thought about _her_ all the time...thought about her when he really shouldn't have. He thought about the way her eyes widened slightly when she grasped hold of a tough problem she'd been struggling to find the answer to, the way her lips fought against the urge to curl into a smile whenever he said something she was pleased with. He thought about the way her curly hair bounced slightly as she bent over tables to furiously scribble something out onto parchment with her quill; he thought of these things all the time, and instead of being immensely irritated by these little quirks the young Muggle-born possessed, he found himself reflecting on them with what could only be dubbed as fondness.

Fondness. He linked _fondness_ to Hermione Granger.

The thought was...disturbing, to put it lightly. Never in his life had he ever imagined he'd feel the slightest bit of positive emotion towards Gryffindor's one and only Mudb-Muggle-born heroine, and yet...here he was. He couldn't even call her the same names he used to without bloody choking up about it. He shivered slightly in the hallway, walking with an air of determination towards where he knew the Headmistress' office resided and told himself he wouldn't think about Granger anymore. It was a rather...impossible and unrealistic goal, to be sure, but...but he had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who he was planning on proposing to when he returned home. Even though he didn't exactly feel very enthused about it.

That wasn't a good sign, was it?

Resolving himself to focusing on the bigger task of the day, Draco paused right outside the extravagant entrance to McGonagall's office. Granger had told him the password the night before, and it was in a low tone that he murmured, "felis catus". He heard the door creak to life before him, and he watched as the winding staircase presented itself before his eyes. He moved forward, walking up the stairs towards the office, and by the time he'd finally entered the large and lavishly-decorated room, he noticed Granger was already there waiting for him. She was sitting down in one of the chairs facing the Headmistress' desk, fiddling with her wand in her lap and waiting rather impatiently for either himself or Potter to arrive. He wasn't sure which. Deciding to make his presence known, Draco cleared his throat, causing Hermione to jump slightly before her eyes shot in his direction.

"Oh," She breathed. "You're here."

"Of course I am," He said stiffly, as though it was the most idiotic assessment ever. He couldn't afford to let his guard down in front of her again; it was too risky. For both of them.

After a moment's hesitation, he inched closer to her, debating as to whether or not it was appropriate for him to take the vacant seat next to her, but eventually deciding it would be more beneficial to him to stand. A quick glance at the clock mounted on McGonagall's desk stated it was five till three, the proposed meeting date, and Draco shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waited. Hopefully Potter would show up right away; then they could hand him the ruddy object, Granger could blabber on and on about their mission, then he'd leave and they'd be free to be on their separate ways for the evening. He told himself he felt smothered by her; that she was suffocating him with the amount of time they'd spent together, but he couldn't ignore the way his senses heightened and his heart raced in her presence.

Stupid bloody hormones.

"I hope Harry got my letter," She said suddenly, her voice laced with undertones of worry and anxiety. She was truly a wreck over this, wasn't she? He supposed he'd been so busy fixating on his own emotions and the need to separate himself from her before things got even more involved between the two of them that he'd ignored her emotions completely. For some reason or another, this upset him; it made him irritated with himself. But why? Why did he give a shit about her feelings? Why did he care that she was upset and hadn't shared it with him? Furthermore, why was he angry with _himself_ for not having noticed her nervousness earlier?

It was the ultimate question, really. One that led to no clear answer at this point, which only served to irritate the young man even more.

"I'm sure he did," Draco mumbled in response, his toe scuffing the floor of McGonagall's office. He glanced around the room, noting the various trophy display cases, portraits of past Headmasters, and trinkets that decorated the room. It sent a chill up and down his spine to acknowledge that not so long ago, a different person had sat behind the large desk and ranked over everyone at school. Someone elderly with crescent-shaped spectacles and a long beard. Someone he'd been responsible for...

No. He wasn't going to do that to himself again. Not in front of _her_; not here, not now.

"But we can't know that for certain, Dra-Malfoy," She managed, stuttering as she tried to cover up her...mistake. He fought against the urge to tell her she didn't have to address him by his surname; it would have made things too personal between them. But then again...they'd been a hell of a lot more intimate with one another the past few months, hadn't they?

Damn it, he was thinking about it again.

Another quick glance at the clock told him it was a minute until three, and Draco's hands balled themselves into fists at his sides as he waited anxiously for the minute to roll into the next hour. He clenched and unclenched his fists, if only so that he had something to occupy his time with as he waited for Potter to arrive. Hermione seemed to pick up on the time, too, for she soon grew stiff and perched on the edge of her chair, her fingers clutched tightly around both her wand and the small bag she'd kept the Resurrection Stone in. Perhaps they could put all of this behind them soon, then; maybe Potter would come with news that they knew where the Elder Wand was hidden and then they could wrap things up. Maybe they were already in the process of defeating Bellatrix...maybe, just maybe, things were finally coming to an end. But for some reason, the thought of drifting back into his rather monotonous life didn't give Draco the sort of elation he'd been hoping for. On the contrary, it filled him with a crippling sense of regret. But then that in itself rose another question-

Regret over what?

As Draco mulled this over, the clock continued to tick by at what felt like a glacial pace. By the time he dared to glance at the clock once more, it was roughly five after three. Five minutes late. Draco tried not to let this discourage him, but he couldn't help but think that maybe Potter didn't get the letter after all; maybe it had gotten lost or the bird in charge of delivering it had become injured. Maybe he'd simply thought it was foolish to meet them at Hogwarts. But if the latter was the case, surely he could have managed to write them a letter in return, right?

So then where the hell was he?

As the clock was nearing ten minutes after the stroke of three, Draco heard the fireplace crackle slightly. Hermione bolted up from her chair, standing quickly and clutching the items she'd brought with her in her hands tightly, shifting from one foot to the other and watching as the fireplace seemed to roar to life. But rather than igniting with a mixture of golden and bright orange flames, the fire turned a vibrant and startling shade of green-an indication that the Floo network had been activated. Draco waited, albeit impatiently, as the silhouette of a masculine figure emerged from the fireplace, and blinking twice, none other than Harry Potter loomed into view.

Clearly relieved by his mere presence, Draco heard a soft rush of breath evacuate Granger's lips, and she was moving towards her friend, flinging her arms around him and hugging him tightly. Potter seemed confused by this gesture, and after a few moments hesitantly wrapped one arm around the petite Witch's build. A bit odd, really...hadn't the bumbling trio always been rather affectionate with one another? They hugged all the fucking time, anyways, yet Potter almost seemed as though her rather forward display of affection was distasteful. Perhaps it was just a figment of Draco's imagination, because Granger surely didn't seem to recognize any sort of difference in him.

"Harry, I was afraid you hadn't gotten my letter!" Granger exclaimed breathlessly, backing away and facing their leader a bit more fully. Harry merely shook his head-a quick and jerking sort of movement that left Draco uneasy. There was something...off about the orphan, but then again, hadn't there always been in Draco's eyes? He decided to brush it off as one of Potter's odd quirks, shifting slightly from where he stood and stuffing his hands in his pockets. He supposed he was really only here to nod and listen; Granger was the one with the Stone. Granger was the one who was friends with him. Granger was the one who liked to try and take charge.

Granger. Granger. Granger. _Granger_.

"Oh, no, I uhh...I got it, I just didn't think it would be smart to send one back, you know?" He asked rather breathlessly. There was something odd about the way he spoke...like he was struggling to communicate to her. His voice sounded a bit...thicker, if that made even an ounce of sense, and Draco shook his head once to clear his thoughts. He was just so used to noticing the odd things about him, that was all it was.

"Oh, right," Hermione replied, nibbling on the bottom of her lip for a moment. She clutched the bag tighter in her hands, observing Harry for a moment and tilting her head to the side slightly, an indication that she was lost in thought. He'd noticed her make that same face at least half a dozen times since they'd started this mission together.

"Harry..." She began, but Potter cleared his throat and cut her off.

"We don't have much time," He said rather impatiently, glancing towards the fireplace with a cautious sort of glimmer in his eyes. "You said you've located the Resurrection Stone, correct?" Hermione nodded her head slightly, and Draco would swear that out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her arm flex slightly-as though she was tightening the grip on the bag holding the Hallow in it. But why? Was she honestly still so protective over the damn thing, even inside the castle? Where they were safe and free of harm?

"I...know, Harry, but listen," Granger spit out in a rush, fumbling over her speech and inhaling a jagged rush of air before deigning to continue. There was something about the way she spoke to him...something that was laced with doubt and a hesitancy to speak. Merlin, this entire Bellatrix fiasco had really made a mess of the Muggle-born war heroine, hadn't it?

"Dr-Malfoy and I still don't have any clue as to where the Stone might be hidden...do you have any idea where it might be?" She inquired, her hazel eyes set hard on his piercing green ones. There was something...odd about their conversation with one another; something that made Draco's skin crawl and his mouth grow sour. It wasn't like they were friends anymore; it wasn't like they were even cordial. They seemed...cold, cautionary, distant. Things that set off warning signals in Draco's mind. Potter and Granger had been friends for as long as he could remember-even after the Second Wizarding War, being a redeemed member of the Order, Draco had noticed they had been as close as ever.

So then...what the hell had changed?

"Dunno...did you check Dumbledore's grave?" Harry said halfheartedly, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders; it was a quick and jerking sort of action...one that made Draco apprehensive all over again. Hermione studied him warily, clearing her throat and enclosing her fingers around the bag that held the Stone, studying him with that same look of contemplation on her features. After a few seconds had passed in a similar fashion and Draco thought as though this exchange with Scarhead was going to last a bloody century, Potter spoke up again.

"Uhh...the Stone?" He asked again, rather expectantly holding his hand out. "I told you, I haven't got a lot of time...things back at Headquarters are still kind of frantic." It was as he was demanding to take possession of the Resurrection Stone that Draco noticed her arm flex once more from under the confines of her clothes, and he stilled immediately. Something...wasn't right. The air had shifted the moment Potter had entered the room, and the tension had been on high ever since.

"Who's back at Headquarters, Harry?" Hermione pressed, her voice sounding small as the words squeaked out. A fleeting look of panic crossed Potter's bright green eyes, as though he'd forgotten himself, but then he was spitting out a quick response.

"The Weasleys," He said quickly, jutting his chin forward slightly. The Weasleys...something about the way he addressed them sounded wrong. Like the word was full of malice and detachment. Something not to be expected, given the fact that he was friends with them all and dating the youngest of the rodent clan. Had Potter had a falling out with them, as well?

"The Weasleys," Granger murmured in response, and Harry sighed once before reiterating that yes, it was the Weasleys, and held out his hand once again-much pushier this time than he had been before. Rather than reach out and hand him the bag, however, Granger seemed to recoil from his touch. She took a step back, her previously curious eyes now gazing at him with both skepticism and accusation.

"Harry didn't put the Elder Wand in Dumbledore's grave," She said quietly, the words barely coming out as she addressed him. Something was off in the way she spoke-why was she referring to him by his first name? As though he wasn't there? One bright brow quirked as Draco studied her, his gaze flickering back and forth from the orphan to his companion.

"You haven't called me by my name since you arrived...you're demanding and stiff and...and...you called Ron and Ginny _the_ _Weasleys_," Hermione continued, backing up another inch and gripping her wand in her hand. Draco watched slowly, his gaze moving over to where Potter stood, and a flicker of recognition overwhelmed his features for a moment. He didn't like the way Scarhead was staring at Granger...his gaze was predatory, almost; enough to make Draco want to punch the git in the bloody face. It wasn't a natural sort of look; it was one that made his skin crawl.

"Malfoy," She said slowly, never removing her eyes from Harry. "Get a grip on your wand." Confused, Draco slowly lifted his wand, showing her that he did, in fact, have a firm grip on it, and it was only now that he paid any attention to Harry.

Potter's lips were curled back into a snarl, baring his teeth, which were...yellow. A disgusting, rotting shade of yellow that hinted of poor hygiene and years of carelessness. It was enough to make Draco want to turn the opposite direction and gag, but he knew for a fact that Potter's teeth had _never_ looked like that. The thought of making some sort of joke at the orphan's expense rose to his mind, but for some reason or another, Draco didn't think that was the brightest idea.

It was probably best not to, really, given what happened next.

One moment, Draco had been contemplating over Potter's disgustingly decaying teeth, and the next, said yellow-toothed Wizard was lifting his wand and pointing it at...Hermione. Granger's eyes widened with what appeared to be a mixture of shock and comprehension, and she only managed to stumble out of the way just as Harry growled, "Expelliarmus!" in her direction. Draco, still shell-shocked in the aftermath of what had just happened, barely managed to duck behind a chair before Potter could aim for him. He glanced over at Hermione, hidden behind a rather large trophy display and panting as she stuffed the bag with the Resurrection Stone deep into her pocket.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" He mouthed, and Hermione's brows furrowed together for a fraction of a second as she struggled to comprehend what it was he'd said. No sooner had she opened her mouth to respond when suddenly, the sound of a glass trinket shattering around them disrupted their thoughts. Draco peered around from where he was hidden, noticing now that the striking green orbs that Potter was so well known for were replaced with those of a dark brown, and his frame seemed much...burlier than before. And that's when everything that Draco had been suspicious of-Potter's attitude, his manner of speaking, his avoidance of certain things such as Granger's name...it all pieced together.

This wasn't Potter. This was someone else.

In fact, the more this...figure seemed to transform into someone else, the more Draco began to recognize its form. The face of the intruder seemed to contort and twist itself into a disgustingly twisted mold with a sinister expression embedded into his features. His dark eyes were alight with determination, and his skin seemed to lighten to a sickly shade of pale; a color that made even Draco's already-light skin seem healthy and vibrant. The tufts of wild black hair that Potter was so well known for seemed to fall from his head, being replaced with greasy strands of dark hair that framed the man's face, reaching down to his chin and curling on the ends from the filth that resided in his tresses. It was only now, with the transformed figure of a monster standing before them, searching for his targets and the best way to attack them, that Draco recognized the man who had been parading around as the Chosen One.

This was Antonin Dolohov, and he was clearly here on a mission.

"Dolohov," Draco whispered, the word falling from his lips without any restriction. The man's beady eyes jerked in Draco's direction, and his lips curled back to reveal his teeth in a beastly snarl. He lifted a hand and pointed it in the direction of Draco, aiming and spitting out a hex that Draco couldn't quite identify. The pale Wizard ducked the spell, just missing as a particularly odd and brightly-colored purple bolt of magic whizzed past him, hitting a vase in the corner of the room and causing the decoration to explode into a thousand tiny fragments of painted glass.

"Blood Traitor," The Death Eater responded, spitting the word out with a clear display of resentment and malice. Draco froze for a moment, his brows tugging together as he foolishly glanced the room for any sign of the Weasleys. It was only when he realized that he and Granger were still very much alone with the brute of a man that he acknowledged that...he was the Blood Traitor. Him, Draco Malfoy-he who had spent the majority of his life condemning those of "inferior" bloodlines and making it known to the world that his superior status placed him above his classmates. But now he was one of them; a Blood Traitor, condemned and branded with another mark for this treason against the high class of Pureblood elitists-an invisible mark that would carry on for the rest of his life and smudge his untainted blood in the eyes of those who placed themselves so high above the rest of the world. He was a soiled Wizard now to even the community he had once belonged to, and he knew that he should have felt remorse for this newfound title; he knew he should have made a display of proving his worth as a Pureblood and a Malfoy heir-he knew he should have repented for joining the Order and tell himself he'd only done it to keep his family safe.

But the only thing he could think of was Granger and keeping her safe.

As if on instinct, his eyes snapped over to the hidden location of Hermione, who was making sure the bag with the Resurrection Stone was hidden securely in her pocket and clearly preparing herself to make a move. Dolohov must have seen the way Draco's eyes flickered over to the corner, for they followed and he bounded forward towards Hermione, his intentions clear on his cruel features. Draco glanced around, noticing Hermione crouching down and securing her footing-she looked as though she was ready to bound out and attack him, seeing as how she was cornered between a raving mad Death Eater and a cluster of furniture. In that moment, all he could focus on was her-making sure she was safe, assuring himself that she didn't get harmed, and so Draco acted on an animalistic need and instinct first and foremost. He pushed off from where he was splayed on the ground, running towards the Headmistress' desk. His hands were trembling, and while the idea of pointing his wand towards Dolohov's back and spitting out a curse sounded tempting, he knew his aim and the proximity of the man to Granger put too much at risk-he might accidentally hit her instead.

Determined, Draco's brows drew together and he pushed off with his feet, landing on the desk and sliding slightly before redirecting his attention. A few slips of parchment fluttered around him, some floating to the ground and others crumpling as the heel of his loafer dug into the desk, securing his footing as he watched Hermione deflect hex after hex that Dolohov angrily sent in her direction. If there was anything to be grateful for in this moment, it was that Granger was skilled with spells-it wouldn't surprise him if she was able to best him before he could get to them in time. But...just to be safe...

Dolohov's attention was so focused on Granger that there wasn't a sodding way in hell he could have seen Draco coming. Grunting, Draco shoved off from the desk, launching himself the short amount of distance into the air before latching himself onto Dolohov's back. His heels dug into the man's sides, and Draco winced initially as he heard the crack of Antonin's rib cage as Draco's heels dug fiercely into his abdomen. His fingers groped for something to hold onto, finally finding purchase in the heavy robes he was wearing (which happened to be too short now that he'd transformed back into his natural form-if the situation wasn't so frantic, Draco might have allotted himself some time to chuckle at the sight). Dolohov gave a cry of pain as Draco's feet dug into his sides, and scrambling to keep his grip on his wand, Draco kicked one foot up and dislodged Dolohov's wand from his loose grip, watching as the dark wand-and the Death Eater's only weapon-clattered to the ground and rolled across the floor.

"Go, Granger! Go!" Draco screamed as a wide-eyed, astonished Hermione Granger stared dumbfoundedly at them from her position in the corner. A flicker of acknowledgement registered in her eyes after a few moments had passed, and as Draco wrestled with the Death Eater too distracted by the pale man straddling his back and digging into his ribs to try and retrieve his wand, Hermione ran the opposite way, nothing but a flurry of bushy hair as she distanced herself from the mass of tangling limbs.

"Hit him, Granger! Damn it!" Draco cried, the hand curled around his wand lifting up to also tug on a strand of the man's greasy locks, causing him to grunt as he tried to throw Draco off his back. He could practically sense Granger's hesitation, and when he thought that she was never going to bloody respond, he heard her squeak out-

"I might...I might hit you!"

Draco grunted, kicking Dolohov once more in the ribs and securing his grip on the robes of his back.

"I'm willing to take that chance, Granger; you're the best aim here. Just...for fuck's sake...do _something_."

There were a few more seconds of what he could only suppose was hesitation, and it was only when Draco was nearly certain that all hope of receiving help from her was lost that he heard her utter a spell so forcefully; so angrily that at the moment it hit Dolohov, the man grew rigid against him. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his abdomen and sputtering, his entire body erupting into fierce shivers as he seemed to struggle and gasp for air. Draco fell when Dolohov did, his wand slipping from his hands and landing next to him. Scrambling for it, Draco reached for the instrument quickly and turned to Dolohov, murmuring "Incarcerous" under his breath. Thick, white rope shot from the end of his wand, coiling and slithering around the Death Eater's body like a snake. It wrapped tightly around his stomach, tying his arms to his sides, and when the ropes had finished knotting themselves Dolohov winced, leaning over and sputtering up a dark red substance Draco could only suppose was blood.

"Granger..." Draco panted, dragging the word out slowly. "What did you...?"

"I-I did the first thing I could think of," She managed, her voice wavering slightly and her face growing considerably paler. He couldn't tell if she felt any remorse over what she'd just done or if she was simply in shock. Draco strained to hear her speak, and after a few more seconds of silence passed between them, she finally revealed what she'd cast on him.

"It was the same curse he used on me-back in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries," She managed quietly, her large brown eyes studying the man doubled over in pain before her. Her bottom lip trembled once, and Draco glanced down towards Dolohov. It didn't occur to him that Granger would recognize the man now writhing in pain; it didn't even register in his mind that she shared any sort of history with him. The thought of Granger knowing any Death Eater on a relatively personal level aside from his family was...well, surprising to say the least. He blinked twice, unsure as to what curse she was even talking about, and his lips tugged into a slight frown as he studied the intruder.

"What does it do?" He asked, his mind instantly thinking of the blood that had sputtered from the man's mouth.

"Well, it...it causes internal bleeding," She managed finally, stuttering slightly and teetering from one foot to the other.

"So he's...?"

"He's...dying, yes," She said, her voice strained.

"Granger..." Draco began, his voice cautionary. Harming someone in self-defense was one thing, but this? This wasn't Granger at all, and judging by the way her face had paled considerably and her eyes had grown frantic, she seemed to acknowledge as much, too.

"He'll-we need to get him to Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione breathed, her words coming out jagged and quick as she leaped forward. She hesitated for a moment before reluctantly bending down, murmuring some unknown healing charm that Draco supposed she had either read up on in advanced texts or had bloody invented herself (with Granger, who the hell knew). This seemed to stop him from coughing up blood, but Draco knew as well as she did that in terms of internal bleeding, that meant nothing. He instructed her to back up, telling her to levitate him with her wand as he scoped the area out. Hermione made a jerky nod of her head, tugging on the sleeve of her shirt and flicking her wrist, causing the nearly-unconscious man on the floor to rise slowly from the ground.

The trip to the hospital wing was one full of fear; Draco was anxious that at any moment, some unsuspecting student was going to bound down the hall and find himself and the Gryffindor war heroine carting a bounded Death Eater through the halls of the school. Draco knew that what they were doing was probably stupid; they should have Floo'd St. Mungo's or contacted McGonagall straight away, but his mind had been in a panic and he suspected Granger's was, as well. By the time they finally arrived, Madam Pomfrey looked...startled, at the very least, to see them. After harshly criticizing them for what they'd done, she had agreed to keep him in a secluded area of the hospital wing, drawing a curtain around him after Draco had insured he was tied securely to the bed and promising to give Dolohov the necessary doses of healing potions until a St. Mungo's official can come for him. McGonagall met them halfway, astonished more than anyone else when she'd heard of what had transpired in her office, and after a long series of heartfelt apologies (on Granger's end, of course), the pair of Order members reluctantly departed from the school's hospital wing, heading back towards the tower they were staying in. Granger was quiet during the walk back to their respective rooms, and though Draco knew it was probably around (if not a bit after) dinnertime, he decided not to press the issue. If he was being honest, he wasn't hungry himself; Merlin knows she probably wasn't, either.

All in all, it had been an exhausting as hell day.

By the time they had finished climbing the stairs that led to their respective suites, Draco had thought a lot over about the events of their rather...hectic day, and he realized he couldn't stay silent any longer.

"Granger," He began, his voice quiet. They were halted outside her room, and she turned to face him, exhaustion weary and prominent on her features. "Today...back in McGonagall's office...what do you think happened? How did he get there?"

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, fiddling with the hem of her shirt and giving a slight shrug.

"My guess is..." She paused, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes slightly in thought. "I suppose my Owl was intercepted-they seemed to have brewed some sort of faulty Polyjuice Potion and sent Dolohov to collect from us." She paused, giving a sad shake of her head. "Here we thought we were covering our tracks, and it's clear they've been following us all along."

"Do you really think that?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" She asked, her voice a bit more forceful than usual. "How else would they keep tabs on us? How would they have known we would be at Hogwarts? How would they have found the letter I'd sent Harry? How would those Snatchers have known what forest to search in for..." She paused, her voice choking off. It was difficult to talk about; he understood that. Suddenly he felt far too weighed down with the pressure of the world resting on their shoulders, and he anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to form a coherent sort of response to what she'd just insinuated.

"You don't know anything for sure," He replied, partially uncertain as to why he was trying so damn hard to make her feel better. She only nodded jerkily in response, glancing down at the stone floor of the castle and seeming to process something. After two minutes of staring at the ground in such a fashion her head snapped up, and she stared at Draco with a mixture of anger and sadness.

"I almost killed a man today-I might still; he could be dead as we speak," She managed, the words reluctant to fall from her lips. Draco studied her closely, trying to keep his face as vacant as possible as she ushered this sinful confession to him. So...that was the true root of her problems; not so much that they'd been discovered, but what she'd done in response.

"Granger...I don't understand," He began slowly, though he knew damn well he comprehended more than he let on. "You fought through the Second War-you've cursed and hexed and sent a thousand spells in the direction of hundreds of people. Why should this be any different?"

"Because it _is_!" She gasped in response, her words harsh and cutting through the air like a knife.

"Don't you _understand_, Malfoy?" She continued, clearly exasperated as her eyes widened, staring at him and imploring him to understand the truth behind her words. "That's the point of the movement; that's the point of fighting discrimination and hatred and ill-founded prejudices-you're supposed to be _better_ than them. You aren't supposed to sink to their level, you're supposed to rise above it, because where they lack humanity you _thrive_ on it. And I failed that today; I failed my own humanity."

Draco's throat suddenly felt far too parched; it was scratchy and aching as he stared at the broken figure of Hermione Granger. No, broken was too harsh of a word; he'd never associated it with her. She was...she was hurting, though, and Draco felt a sharp pain shoot through his chest at the acknowledgment. Much to his dismay, he found himself wanting to reach out and wrap his arms around her for security; to kiss her lips and whisper words of comfort and truth against her mouth. He wanted to comfort her the way a lover might, but he couldn't. Instead, he flexed his hands at his sides, taking a hesitant step closer to her and staring at her intently until she lifted her eyes and met his gaze.

"What happened today wasn't your fault, Granger," He began, his voice an urgent whisper. Her face mirrored the doubt he knew she felt, and he shook his head once, trying to illustrate that he wasn't finished speaking yet. "You...feel more strongly than anyone I've ever met. Your emotions are the most fearsome thing I've ever beheld; it's astounding and profound and...everything I wish I had but don't. Don't you understand, Granger? You aren't the enemy here, it's them; if Dolohov had bested you, he wouldn't have felt a lick of remorse. It's not in the nature of a Death Eater-to truly rise above in the ranks of dark magic, you must separate yourself from humanity. You must shut down compassion and empathy and guilt; you feed on hatred and nothing but. It's a lonely, pathetic sort of existence-the kind that eats you from the inside out until you're nothing but a shell of a human being. Some people crumble under the pressure, and others rise. Don't you get it? You _are_ better than them-you feel everything so intensely where they lack the ability to. Compassion, guilt, remorse, anger, vengeance, affection...love...you feel it with everything in you, and that's how you're different. No one can take that from you, Granger, and that's what matters most."

He exhaled in a rush, the speech just as shocking to him as it must have been to her. He wasn't used to...expressing such things to anyone, not even himself. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed, as though his interior thoughts were on display for the entire world. Granger's face had contorted itself throughout his speech; she was staring at him with the most confused, heart-broken look on her face, and in that moment Draco wished he could wipe all the hurt from her body and absorb it as his own. It was a sick thought, given how much he was supposed to hate her, but it didn't make it any less true.

"Malfoy..." She began finally, his name falling from her lips in a slow rush, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "You can't...you can't say those things to me. Not when you belong to...it just...never mind. It doesn't matter. Thank you, I need to...I need to go to bed. Goodnight." She turned around quickly, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She fumbled for her wand, raising it and letting herself into her suite. Draco's heart was pounding violently in her absence, and the loss of her was enough to nearly drag him to his knees. He stared at her door in silence for a few moments, and when he thought the temptation was suffocating and strangling him, he surged forward, forcing her door open and stepping inside. The room was dark, and he could barely make out the silhouette of her figure near the bed. She turned to face him quickly, and Draco stepped forward, wiping his clammy hands against his trousers and addressing her.

"No one gets to tell me who I belong to, Granger," He said quickly, reaching for her face in the dark. His hands managed to cup her face, and he heard a broken cry tumble past her lips as their faces crushed together. They were nothing but a writhing mess of limbs, his hands sliding down to reach for her shirt in the dark, and she did the same. His mouth worked against hers sloppily, his tongue parting her lips and delving into the wet heat of her mouth as their hands explored the other's body. There was a fierce shredding of clothing-more than once Draco heard a tear or snap as the fabric of their clothes got caught in frantic hands and were yanked and pulled from each other's figures. He was a mess of need and lust, his desire for her blooming in his abdomen and spreading through him like a fire. It licked and nipped at every fiber of his being, tearing through him and dominating his senses. He was lost in the extravagant mess that was Hermione Granger, and he knew damn well he'd never be able to claw his way out.

Not anymore. He was in too far deep for that.

By the time the last of their clothing had been shredded, Draco was frantic as he pushed her down onto the bed, their harsh and labored breathing the only noise that filled the room. It seemed amplified, almost, and Draco decided it was his heightened senses as he crawled on top of the bare, writhing Witch beneath him. She gave a mewl of pleasure, arching her back and thrusting her breasts against his chest as he settled against her intimately. A fierce shudder tore through his spine as her nipples brushed against his chest, pebbling against the lean and toned form of his torso. He dipped his head, crushing their lips together and kissing her fiercely once again as his hips ground against her own. His cock was growing harder by the minute, causing a dull and aching throb to pound through his length as his erection pressed against the dripping lips of her pussy. Hermione gave a low, throaty moan in response, dragging her hands around Draco's back and raking her nails down his back. He could feel her fingers leaving grooves and scratches in the soft, pale skin of his figure, and he gave a low grunt of approval as she canted her hips against him and silently begged for more.

It was always more, more, more with them. There was no satiating their lust; no feeding the hunger of their desire and no calming the tumultuous waves of the want and attraction they felt for one another. They were all heat and energy just ready to combust, and Draco found that he didn't much give a damn. When it came to Granger, hell, he didn't give much of a damn about anything that wasn't her.

"Malfoy, Malfoy," She murmured frantically, her eyes searching for his in the dark. He broke his lips from hers, panting harshly against her mouth and locking his eyes onto hers. There was a silent sort of conversation that seemed to pass between the two, and Draco gave a stiff nod before bending his head and attacking her neck with a series of hot and open-mouthed kisses. He knew what she wanted; it was the same thing he'd wanted for weeks now. The press of their bodies, the union of their beings...maybe once, in a different time, it would have been nothing but a quick, rough fuck. But it meant more...it had for a while, even if neither one would admit so. Even if Draco wouldn't admit so even to himself.

Draco went about preparing himself, shifting his hips and aligning his hard cock with her core. The blunt tip of his erection pressed against her tight, wet opening, and it was with a groan that he shifted and drove into her. She gave a startling cry of pleasure, her jaw slacking and her eyes widening as she arched off the bed. Draco's fingers gripped the soft fabric of her bed sheet beneath him, and he focused damn near all of his energy on suckling on the sensitive skin of her neck as his hips snapped frantically against her own. His heart was beating painfully in his chest, and he let out a shuddering moan as the sensation of his thick, hard length stretching her tight, wet cunt overwhelmed him. He angled his hips, rotating his pelvis and stuffing his length further inside of her, feeling his cock brush against her at an angle that made Granger cry brokenly in desire.

"Yes, Draco, yes," She managed breathlessly, and the young Wizard derived some sort of intense pleasure from the way she said his first name. His lips sloppily kissed up the length of her neck, dragging across her jaw line until he met her kiss-swollen lips once more. Her mouth was sweet-it tasted of chapstick and was soft as velvet as it skirted across his own. Her nails continued to dig into his back, her hips lifting to meet each one of his brutal thrusts with her own as he fucked her with as much raw heat as he could manage. The arousal that had tugged and bloomed in his abdomen was now a fierce thing to behold; it was pulsating and persistent and dominant as it tore through him, and Draco knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"G...Granger, yes," He managed, the words coming out like a murmur as he kissed her and snapped his hips more roughly against her own. She answered with pants and moans of her own, kissing him messily in return as he pounded into her. It was with a final twitch of his hips as his fingers tightened in the fabric of the bedspread beneath him that he came, his lips parting in a cry. He was nothing more than a mess of unraveled nerves, and he thrust against her violently as he rode out his rather intense orgasm, mounding his back and slamming himself against her as he reached the climax of his pleasure. She soon followed, crying out his name as she came around his thick, aching length, and he found himself winding his arms around her and holding her tightly against his chest as he unraveled, moving his pelvis against her own and aiding her in riding out her orgasm until neither one were anything more than a flimsy mess of limbs.

Panting, Draco shakily slipped out of her and fell down against the bed next to her. His limbs were quivering in the aftermath of the most intense and passionate bout of sex he'd ever encountered, and with a trembling hand he lifted to wipe a layer of sweat from his forehead. His hands rested against the bed, and for several minutes neither spoke. Draco listened to the sound of their uneven, labored breathing mingling with the fast beating of his heart; it was calming, in a sense. It helped him forget that the world around him existed-there was only him and only her. Their prejudices, their past, their mission, their positions, their responsibilities and obligations and everything else faded away.

There was nothing but Draco and Hermione, and Draco would have gladly kept it that way forever.

So when she looked at him, her eyes soft and hesitant as she searched his grey orbs for some sort of answer and asked "will you stay?", Draco could think of only one thing to say in response.

"Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>aN**: I am so sorry about the delay in updating, you guys! School's pretty much dominated my life, but I've finally got it up and I've planned a lot of the next chapters out, so things should be good! I hope you're all doing well! I debated for a while-going back and forth on how to write this chapter, but I think I'm fairly satisfied with how it turned out. Stay awesome, and don't forget to let me know what you think!


	16. The Plan

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Fifteen**: The Plan

_"The color of truth is grey."_

_- Andre Gide_

* * *

><p>The first time Hermione Granger had ever been kissed was by Viktor Krum. It was in her fourth year, of course, when he was visiting for the Triwizard Tournament, and the two had spent a great deal of time together. Viktor was older and experienced-though attractive and kind-hearted, he lacked that which Hermione held in abundance of the mind, and with it being her first kiss, it was memorable but not...preferable. If anything, the young Witch could only recall that it was very sloppy; her hands had been clammy and she hadn't quite known what to do with them, and the entire time she was fretting over whether or not she was doing anything right (Was she supposed to tilt her head more? Should she open her lips a little like she'd seen in so many Muggle movies, or would that be considered inappropriate?) It had been sufficient as far as first kisses go, of course, but Hermione Granger simply didn't understand what the <em>big deal<em> about kissing was. Surely Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were exaggerating how much fun it could be! If anything, it involved too much saliva and breathing against one another!

The second boy she'd kissed was none other than Ron Weasley. She'd harbored an emotional attachment to him for quite a while by the time they'd finally got around to committing the act, and she had been so unsure as to whether or not her love for him extended far and beyond the realms of friendship. But there they were, in the midst of a battle, and Hermione Granger had known perfectly well that her hopes of getting out alive weren't as optimistic as she might have liked to believe. And then there was Ron, and that comment he made about the House Elves caused her heart to swell with gratitude and pride, and with adrenaline pumping through her veins and a fear that she'd die without knowing what it felt like to kiss her redheaded friend's plump, slightly chapped lips caused a surge of emotion to course through her, and Hermione had simply..._pounced_. It was all teeth and dry lips, and with the force in which Hermione's mouth had slammed against Ron's, she swore she could feel her teeth rattle. If it had been any other time, she would have taken the time to pull away and wince at the bruises she was certain were left on her rather...frantic and eager lips, but they were in the climax of a war, and she simply couldn't afford such a thought. But yet again, Hermione Granger didn't understand what all the fuss concerning kissing was about. Needless to say the kiss in itself had been a bit of a dud...reflecting back on it, it was very much like kissing a brother she'd never had, and Hermione cringed whenever she thought of the toothy, clumsy kiss she had shared with Ronald.

After that, Hermione Granger didn't make much of a habit of kissing boys. There was no need, really; she was a woman on a mission-determined to dedicate her life to her work, and she really didn't have any time to deal with ridiculous notions like_ kissing boys_ (she would leave that to people like Lavender and Parvati). After all, she hadn't had the best of luck with kissing thus far, and she didn't really see what the big deal was.

But then she and Draco had shared their first kiss together in that little tent out in the woods, and it was as though every kiss before then ceased to exist; they meant nothing to her, and she had almost been certain that she'd never feel the same way about kissing someone as she had with her childhood nemesis. Kissing Draco Malfoy was an art, and Hermione enjoyed indulging herself in the pleasure and beauty of it whenever she could. Where she was uncertain of what to do with Viktor, she grew and learned with Malfoy. She learned his mouth; studied it and memorized it like she had so many books in the past. She knew every crevice-every curve and dip of his mouth, from inside the warm and wet cavern of his mouth to his soft and supple lips. She took great pleasure in learning this; it was like she was absorbing a bit of him every time their lips pressed against the other's. And where the kiss had been nothing but teeth and cracked lips with Ron, it was soft, warm, and inviting with Malfoy. There were moments when his kisses were harsh; like he was trying to tear her lips off with the force of his own-they could be hungry and ravenous, but they could also be tender and curious. For every moment that his kiss was rough and desperate, there was also another where they just barely grazed against her own; the kind of kiss that sent shivers up and down her spine and had her craving for more. The kind that left her dizzy and breathless.

There were a million different sort of kisses to be had, Hermione realized, and she would gladly have spent the rest of her life discovering each and every one so long as Malfoy's lips were the ones she experimented with. Whether she was pecking the corner of his lips as they stretched into a smirk or he was working his kiss-swollen lips down the sensitive column of her throat, she wanted it all.

And that _terrified_ her.

But Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, and fear was not to be had.

Things had changed between the former Gryffindor and Slytherin the night before-by following her into her room and kissing her, Malfoy had finally let a few of the cracks in his carefully-crafted walls show; he'd let someone in for the first time in Merlin knew how long, and it had felt...nice, even. She didn't know what this meant for the two of them, but it had to be something significant. They'd both given and taken something from the other last night, and while that was petrifying, in a sense, it was also relieving. Malfoy had stayed with her all through the night, and when they woke up spent a few moments trying to adjust to the fact that they were _voluntarily_ curled up next to one another. But she didn't shrink away from his touch, and he didn't pull away from hers. They were merely...studying one another; trying to make sense of what had been a confusing night for the both of them.

The morning after the incident with Dolohov, Hermione slept with Draco again. He had been half-asleep when he started kissing her, his bright hair sticking up at odd angles and his brilliant grey eyes clouded over with a drowsiness that made him look irresistible, and Hermione couldn't have stopped herself from kissing him even if she'd tried. They spent several moments snogging each other senseless until Draco had curled his fingers around the bed sheet surrounding Hermione, tugging her petite form on top of his. Hermione was surprised to note that her feminine build seemed to mold against Malfoy's lean, masculine one almost instantly; she could feel every inch of his skin pressed intimately against her own, and in that moment it was as though the entire world had stopped. There was nothing but him and her, and she was determined to convince herself of as much until they were forced to leave the comfort of her room.

Positioning herself on top of Draco's body had been a bit more difficult than she had originally thought. Her arms wobbled slightly as she brought herself up into a sitting position, pressing the warm palms of her hands against his chest. Her thumb, incidentally, scraped against one of his nipples, and the strangled hum that fell from Draco's lips in response was almost too delicious to handle. She'd been nervous-_terrified_, really-but Malfoy had been surprisingly...understanding about it. He helped her through the new experience, filling in the gaps where she was otherwise naive and ignorant. She would always recall the way it had felt to have his heated, slightly-callused hands pressing against the delicate curve of her waist; how he had brought her arms down from where they were covering her breasts, informing her that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

As odd as it was to admit as much, Hermione felt that if it hadn't been for Draco's patient and soft guidance, she wouldn't have been able to pull it off at all. She hadn't exactly been skilled-by the time she finally managed to get a grip on his erection and slide down on it slowly, testing the waters out, she was almost certain that she was the most unappealing human being in the entire bloody _world_. How could he be attracted to her when the basic instincts of sex seemed to evade her? Just when she'd convinced herself that she had somehow failed even the most basic aspect of human nature, Malfoy had been rotating his hips beneath her, urging her on. She was slightly sloppy in her movements, her hips coming down on him often times in an uneven and near-desperate manner, but he didn't seem to mind; he didn't even complain when her grip on his chest slipped slightly and she came down on him with an almost bruising intensity. And for all her inexperience was worth, Hermione _really_ enjoyed it; it felt good to hold the reins for once-to ride him and feel his cock nudging inside of her tight, wet entrance, probing at her slick cunt from entirely new angles. More than once she wanted to cover her breasts, which were bouncing as she rode the Slytherin beneath her, but she forced herself not to. She focused on him, and only him-the way his eyes twinkled with lust as they slid up and down her bare form, the way his lips parted on a silent cry of ecstasy as she came down on him just right, how his hips would lift to meet her thrusts and his fingernails would accidentally dig into the soft skin of her sides, leaving crescent-shaped grooves in their wake. But most of all, she loved the way he looked when he came; his eyes would widen significantly, his jaw slacking as he forced out a stuttering cry of pleasure. She could feel every muscle in his body tense beneath her; could feel his fingers quivering as she rode him and aided her lover in his climax. He was always most vulnerable like this-it was when he reached his height that Hermione felt the most connected with him. Almost like if she tried hard enough, she could send those walls he'd built to protect himself crumbling down. Like she could be _close_ with him.

When Draco had reached his point of orgasm, oddly enough Hermione had been struck with the thought of Astoria Greengrass. She wondered what it would be like if the younger Witch was to walk in and see her boyfriend being straddled by Hermione; would it break her heart? Did she even love Draco enough to care about what he did when she wasn't around? She was immediately ashamed of herself for harboring such thoughts, and even more humiliated by the fact that...that sleeping with another woman's man didn't scandalize her nearly as much as it should have. She had always been a strong believer in morals and faithfulness and loyalty, but...being with Malfoy offered her something she'd never had before. It made her feel entitled to be selfish, in a sense, because she knew that Astoria had something that Hermione never would-not fully, anyway. Sure, Malfoy might have...suggested otherwise the night before, but by the time they were finished with the mission and returned back home, it wasn't Hermione that Draco would be going home with. It wasn't Hermione he'd be falling asleep next to every night. It was Astoria Greengrass.

And for that, Hermione would always be jealous. Not because someone else had something she wanted, but because they had something she _needed_. And whether or not she would admit it to herself, much less anyone else, she needed Malfoy. He'd never told her she was beautiful-Hermione couldn't even recall if he'd ever once said she was pretty-but he made her _feel_ that way. He made her feel protected, even when he was yelling at her and telling her something she'd done was stupid. Malfoy was horrible with words, that much she knew, but his actions spoke volumes. They told stories with the way his hands lingered on her, with the way his eyes studied her closely as she was bent over a map, scribbling something down. It was in the way that he spoke to her sometimes, and how every now and again, those soft pink lips would quirk up into a knowing smirk. It was in the way he acted rather than the way he spoke, and Hermione understood that about him. Maybe he might not ever be able to tell her that he thought she looked beautiful, and perhaps he would never be able to properly articulate his feelings, but she understood him.

Sometimes, she wondered if she understood him better than she did herself.

The recognition of that was a powerful and terrifying one to come to terms with. What did it mean-for her, for him, for the both of them? Hermione wasn't sure, and that was all the more infuriating. She wasn't used to having such loose a hold onto a situation; she was familiar and comfortable with maintaining control. But with Malfoy...control was the last thing she held possession of. Being around him was dizzying and mind-boggling, as were the emotions and thoughts that accompanied his presence. She thought that maybe-just maybe-she should try to distance herself from him, but despite all of the strength and courage she possessed as a Gryffindor, she couldn't manage it. Maybe she was weaker than she'd thought-not in terms of loyalty or sticking to her morals, of course, but...with matters of the heart.

Oh, Merlin, what was Malfoy _doing_ to her?

She didn't know-not in the slightest-but these were the thoughts that came to her after having departed back to her own suite and preparing for the day. They didn't have very big plans, what with the setback that Dolohov provided, but Hermione Granger was _determined_ to get a hold of Harry, even if it was the last thing she did. Malfoy had opted to staying in his own suite for the afternoon, claiming that he needed to write a few letters. Hermione had strictly warned him against sending anything (look at what had happened the _last_ time she had tried to send someone an owl?!), but Malfoy was persistent. He promised he wouldn't send anything risky, and while Hermione wanted to push the subject further and demand an explanation as to what sort of letters he planned on writing, she knew better than to keep prodding. Malfoy could be a very...private sort of individual; perhaps it had been one of the reasons she'd been so hesitant to trust him since he'd joined the Order.

Well...that and the fact that she had every reason not to. Or...did she? Things had changed for Malfoy-and for her-since their years in school together. Whether or not Hermione was willing to admit it, he was a different person. Something about the war had transformed him, and now the young Gryffindor didn't know what to think when she spoke or looked at him. It wasn't with malice or detest for what he'd done and who he had been, but...something else.

She dared not say it, though, for fear of her confession solidifying and becoming far too real.

So just for today, Hermione would take care of things alone. She hadn't really realized until she'd set off for McGonagall's office just how much she had relied on Malfoy for things. True, she was a bit of a...a bit of a "control freak", as Ronald had called her a time or two, but Malfoy had been shockingly helpful since they'd been assigned as group partners together. When had Draco matured so much? It was almost like he wasn't the same person anymore. She supposed he wasn't, actually...as she'd stated already, things had changed him for good; the war, his role in the Order, his family...everything. Hermione was forced to acknowledge that as rotten as he could be, things had been tough for Malfoy, too.

And realizing that he was more than likely still suffering over what he had witnessed caused her chest to _ache_. Merlin, what was happening to her?

All thoughts of the blonde-haired Slytherin aside, McGonagall had kindly offered to go and retrieve Harry and bring him back to the school personally through the Floo system-the last thing anyone wanted was another incident like the day before. Hermione mentally reminded herself to write her former professor a thank you note or something once everything was said and done with-she'd been _so_ incredibly helpful since Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts with Malfoy. Even now, when her school was potentially at risk, the elder Witch was going out of her way to help the Order.

Minerva McGonagall was truly an extraordinary woman.

After declaring the password that would allow her into the headmistress' office, Hermione fixed her blouse and stood straighter, moving to step up the flight of stairs that would lead to the lair that Hogwarts' head administrator dwelled. It was...eerie, in a sense, to have entered the office twice now and not seen Dumbledore's aged, kind face smiling at her from behind the desk. Though Hermione had no real reason to come to the Headmaster's office much back when she was in school, it was still unsettling to be in a place that he had inhabited for so long and acknowledge that he was never coming back. And if it was difficult for her, she could only imagine how disturbing it was for Harry. Poor Harry-her heart ached for him; he'd been put through so much for years now. He had to be exhausted-tired of the games and charades; of war and death and the scent and emotions it left behind. Death was a powerful sort of thing; it consumed you the moment you turned your head-it wrapped its thick black fingers around you, suffocating you and denying you the one thing you so desperately crave: life. Death killed more than just one victim or two-it destroyed the lives of everyone surrounding. It had consumed Hermione's life for so long now, and if her grief was one thing, her friend's was another.

But she wouldn't pity him. If Hermione knew one thing about her friend, it was that he didn't want anyone's pity. He could say what he liked about himself-about his connections to Voldemort and the past they shared, but there was one thing Hermione would always be sure of: Harry was a good person. Through and through, he was the best sort of individual. To the very core of his being, he was a Gryffindor-and he was her best friend. Surely he of all people would understand her reservations about Bellatrix; about the war and everything that was happening to them. Ron had a short fuse and was likely to get in squabbles with her over the most ridiculous things, but...perhaps Harry would listen. Maybe he would understand her emotions better than she did.

Well...only one way to find out.

By the time Hermione reached McGonagall's office, she was pleased to find that both she and Harry were occupying the area. Unable to help herself, Hermione's lips spread into a wide, relieved grin, and she hurtled herself towards her friend. It felt like years since she'd been able to see him, and his presence was both comforting and relaxing. She gave him a friendly hug that he reciprocated, pulling away just long enough to ensure that he wasn't hurt. Heaving a relieved sigh, Hermione stepped away and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, beaming from ear-to-ear.

"Harry, thank _Merlin_!" Hermione exclaimed, flushed and breathless. "I was so worried that McGonagall wasn't going to be able to contact you! You're alright, aren't you? And everyone else? Holding up, I trust?"

"Yeah, yeah-we're all doing just fine, Hermione," He assured her, giving her a nod of his head and smiling in return. Hermione glanced over at McGonagall who was smiling politely at the both of them. The elder Witch gave a slight nod of her head before gathering her bearings and maneuvering around the desk to stand in front of them both.

"Mr. Potter wasn't quite as difficult to get ahold of as we'd fooled ourselves into believing, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said primly, glancing own her nose at the both of them. "I trust that you know the next course of action, Potter?"

"Yes, err-Professor," Harry managed, clearly struggling to determine what he should call their old teacher. Hermione glanced between the two, waiting for Harry to speak. "I guess things are much more crucial than I thought they were; I suggest that you try and-I dunno-try and make sure the students are safe? The last thing we want is any unnecessary casualties, and if Bellatrix or the others think they've found a window of opportunity at slipping into the school, you can be sure she'll pounce on it. They're desperate now; they've lost their leader, after all."

McGonagall nodded, clearly understanding of what Harry was implying. She tutted in an irritated fashion, gathering her robes and walking towards the entrance to her office.

"I'll have to alert the rest of the staff immediately, then," She said, turning around once to stare at them both. "We'll make an official announcement at dinner this evening-in the meantime, though, I trust the both of you will be fine on your own?"

Both Harry and Hermione nodded; there was no need to say much else. Professor McGonagall gave them one last glance before heading out the very door Hermione had just waltzed in from. Once she had disappeared-emerald robes and all-Hermione turned her gaze back to Harry, noticing he seemed rather expectant. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small sack she kept the Stone secured in. After a moment's pause, she reached over and handed it to Harry, who took it and rolled the small bag around in his hands.

"It's weird, y'know?" He asked suddenly, his thumb brushing over the velvet case of the small drawstring bag. Hermione gazed at him queerly, her brunette brows drawing together in a fit of confusion as she tried to decipher what he meant. Luckily, though, Harry continued. "I just mean...the last time I saw this, I was talking to my parents...to Sirius and Lupin. It feels like a world away; I should have taken it with me then. Kept it safe."

"Harry, you didn't know..."

"Didn't I?" He asked sharply, his green eyes flickering towards her. "Didn't I know that something would happen during that battle, Hermione? That I was going to die, or that Voldemort was? Shouldn't I have had the sense to pocket it and keep it hidden; to keep anyone from being the true Master of Death?"

"You couldn't have known something like that, though," She protested, taking a tentative step towards him. "Harry...no matter what happened back there in the Forbidden Forest-between your parents or Sirius or even Professor Lupin, you _have_ to know that it wasn't your fault. None of it's been your fault, Harry."

Rather than acknowledging her protests, Harry merely shifted his gaze and cleared his throat. He gazed down at the small bag for a few more moments before pocketing it. Maybe this _wasn't_ the best time to mention Bellatrix. Turning to face her once more, Hermione could tell that Harry was expecting more from her. But what?

"Sorry I made you go through this with Malfoy, by the way," He said finally, an apologetic tone in his voice.

Oh.

"I-don't apologize, Harry, you did what you had to do," Hermione said evasively, glancing around the room and wishing she could shrink to the size of a pea. She hoped that her face wasn't turning scarlet; oh, if Harry only _knew_ what she and Malfoy had gotten up to since they'd been paired together as partners...she didn't know if he'd ever be able to fully forgive her. Defected Order member or not, he was still Malfoy, and he was still Harry's childhood nemesis. In all rightfulness, he should have been _hers_, too. But...he wasn't. She hadn't considered him an enemy for quite some time now.

Merlin, when had _that_ happened?

"I did what I thought was best, Hermione, but I probably could have found someone else," Harry offered, giving her a sad sort of look. "I can only imagine the hell you've had to deal with being holed up with him all this time."

"It...it hasn't been that bad; Malfoy's not _too_ terrible, Harry," Hermione defended, rather breathless and winded with their heavy conversation.

To Hermione's surprise, Harry snorted.

"_You_? Defending _Malfoy_? Maybe you _have_ been cooped up for too long, Hermione." Harry said finally, a small ghost of a smile occupying his face. "Maybe all of this isolation is really starting to get to you."

"Oh! You-shut it, Harry Potter!" Hermione shot back, trying to be playful with him. Her heart was hammering against her chest; beating a mile a minute and so loudly that the young Witch was nearly certain that it was going to beat its way right out of her chest! She gave Harry a playful tap on the arm, her fingers shaking slightly as she finally withdrew her hand. She could tell she was more than likely being obvious in her fit of lying, though if Harry detected any dishonesty, he made no show of illustrating it. Thank Godric for _that_.

"Really, though," Hermione defended primly, tugging on the hem of her blouse. "I'm handling things just fine, Harry; Malfoy's nothing that I can't handle. But...what about you? Do you have any sort of lead or idea on what needs to happen next?"

"Not quite," Harry said with a sigh, lifting a hand and rubbing at the back of his neck. "The places that Ron and I have searched have been vacant; the Death Eaters must be using new territory for hideouts. Though where, we're not entirely sure. I think-given recent events-it would be wise to assemble a small army in defense. I'm not sure how many volunteers I can rally up, but Ron's promised he would help me. We go to the Ministry tomorrow to talk to Kingsley and see if he can help."

All of this talk of war and armies and assembling defenses had Hermione anxious for the outcome; it felt too much like war for her, and as much as she wished that she could blink and have the entire issue at hand resolved, she knew better than almost anyone else that life simply didn't work like that. So instead, she stayed true to her character and nodded, listening intently to her best friend as he rattled off possible strategies and battle plans. It was the best she could manage to do, all things considered.

"What about Malfoy and I?" She blurted out suddenly, unsure why she voiced the thought in the first place.

"Well...I'm expecting you and Malfoy to continue searching for the Elder Wand," Harry explained, clasping his hands together. "It's really one of the most important aspects of this entire battle plan; if we want to get ahead, we have to trip them up before they know what's hit them."

Hermione personally saw a lot of holes and flaws in this plan, and while she was itching to explain them all to Harry, she refrained. She knew that he wouldn't listen anyway-not when he was like this. Besides, there _was_ still the possibility of the Elder Wand being out there somewhere; it wasn't confirmed that anyone from Bellatrix's side had found the wand, after all. So for once, she kept quiet-partially because she didn't know how to fix the problem in front of her, and partially because she was so overwhelmed that she didn't think her words of advice would even end up sounding coherent in the first place.

"I'll make sure to tell him; we'll start up on the search for the Elder Wand first thing tomorrow," She said quietly, giving a slight nod of her head. Her hair swayed around her as she nodded, and she and Harry stood in silence for a few minutes. She knew he had to leave soon, and the realization that she would be without a friendly face again so soon was disheartening; she had Malfoy, of course, but that was different. That was...complicated. So when Harry made his excuses to head back to 12 Grimmauld Place and prepare for whatever was lying before them, Hermione knew she had to let him go. Giving him one last friendly hug, she smiled at him affectionately and waved, watching as Harry picked up a fistful of Floo Powder and called out the same address that she wished she could accompany him to. 12 Grimmauld Place, for all of its faults and flaws in design, had become like home to her over the past year or so. It wasn't perfect, nor were any of the people who inhabited it on a temporary or permanent basis, but it was as close to security as she felt these days.

Or, well...until Malfoy. He'd come along and screwed up so much for her; her way of thinking and feeling-the sensation of absolute resolve she felt when she reflected on who he was and who she was and how their paths could never cross without the defense of fire and ice being involved. Everything was ripped to shreds; there was no longer any black and white when it came to Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Somehow, along the way, they'd smeared the clear lines that defined and segregated them. Somewhere down the path they'd found themselves forcibly journeying along together, they'd smeared the boundaries that kept them separated. In a world where Hermione was so open to change and progressive thinking and everything that came with her desire for freedom and equality, her resentment of Malfoy and his for her in return had been a shining beacon of clarity in her life. It had been as plain as day and night; as opposite as black and white, and as true to form as anything she'd ever known.

But lust and desire and hushed confessions murmured in the dead of night when they were left alone had blurred that careful and plain aspect of her world she thought was mapped out for her; black and white had blended, and suddenly Hermione Granger's entire world was transformed into a million shades of grey.

And the most terrifying part of it all was that she wouldn't turn back; not anymore. Whether or not Hermione Granger was willing to admit it, Draco Malfoy meant something to her now.

Maybe he always would.

* * *

><p><strong>aN:** I'm so sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter! I could feed you all excuses about how I've been busy with school and other personal things-which I have-but you've heard it all before. So this is me just saying that I hope you guys are having a great 2013 so far, and hopefully it'll continue to stay that way! I consider this chapter more of a "filler" than anything; I needed to incorporate it somehow, and so I figured I'd have Hermione have a mini revelation in it. Big stuff's about to come, guys! Stay tuned! And as always, don't forget to read and review :).


	17. The Cabinet's Secret

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Sixteen:** The Cabinet's Secret

_"If you want peace, prepare for war."_

_- Vegetius_

* * *

><p>Draco was a hair away from pulling each and every strand of his flaxen-colored mane out and screaming in frustration.<p>

Thus far, the search for the Elder Wand had been futile-they'd begun their hunt for it the day after Granger had met with Potter and exchanged the Resurrection Stone for further orders. That had been roughly a week ago. They were nearing the middle of November now, and Draco couldn't help but worry that their mission was reaching its expiration date. Surely Bellatrix would have been able to garner enough attention for a small and powerful army right now; insane she might have been, but not without an unreasonably high amount of dedication to her cause. There might have been method in her madness; he couldn't say he knew the manic woman well enough to make any sort of accurate assumption. It didn't matter so much that she was his biological aunt-he was as detached from her as he was Voldemort. To him, they were one in the same; they had functioned as a unit during the Second Wizarding War.

All Draco knew was that it was crucial to keep Bellatrix from getting her hands on that wand. The less power she held, the better-giving a Witch without a conscious the most powerful wand known to the Wizarding World was just asking for death and destruction. He didn't want to go there again; he didn't want to be forced to watch the world burn around him. He didn't think he could take it.

And though it went unspoken, he had a hell of a lot more to lose now than he ever did before.

The first two days, they had checked for the Elder Wand in all of the castle's abandoned classrooms. When that search had proven useless, they then ventured on to looking through every classroom that was currently in use. In all probability, it wasn't even within the castle's walls; Potter had probably dropped it wherever the fuck he saw fitting after the Battle of Hogwarts to dispose of it. But Granger wouldn't accept that as an answer-she was determined to check anywhere and everywhere that the wand could possibly be hidden.

To her, that was the entire bloody school as well as the areas surrounding it. It was a tedious week.

When the classroom idea had been a bust, she'd chosen to thoroughly investigate the Headmistress' office. McGonagall didn't mind, of course (it was for the _cause_), but Draco still felt uncomfortable given the amount of time they spent in that damnable place. More than once he had suggested simply Accio-ing the wand or performing some sort of spell or enchantment to reveal whether or not it was hidden in the crooks and crannies of whatever room they were investigating, but Granger had _insisted_ that it wouldn't work.

"_Honestly_, Draco," She had told him irritably, huffing as she ran her fingers along the rows of shelves pressed against the walls of McGonagall's office. "It's not as though something as powerful and one-of-a-kind as the Elder Wand is going to be vulnerable to trivial charms designed for locating a lost set of keys or something."

And although he didn't say anything, he paid particular attention to how she addressed him. It was more "Draco" and less "Malfoy" these days. More personal.

He liked it.

But he didn't show it. Broadcasting his emotions was something distasteful-to be looked down on. He supposed a lot of it had to deal with how he was raised; shutting down his emotions and feigning a facade of cool indifference had been second nature to the young Wizard growing up. It had been as natural as breathing. But with Granger...with her, it was different. She felt everything so intensely; she loved and she lost and she expressed everything in-between without a hint of shame or regret. When she grew furious, she'd damn well let you know; when she was upset, the emotions were easy and painful to read on her face. He presumed it was because she'd been bred differently than him; she was, after all, meant to be nothing more than a Mudb-a Muggle-born. He couldn't even call her by the very name that had identified her for so long.

She had changed him. Somehow, some way, she had burrowed underneath his skin and was molding and shifting the way he viewed and interpreted the world. It was terrifying, but he didn't think he'd take any of it back.

He feigned irritation caused by her presence, as was his usual, though the young Wizard was steadily growing to believe that his act wasn't as convincing as he would have liked to imagine. At one point in his life, it had been easy to illustrate disgust for the things Granger said or abhorrence for acts she committed; hating her had been as easy as waking up-it was a part of his normal routine. Something to be expected, something to proud of; she represented the filth of her bloodline, and he symbolized the purity of his own. It was the way he'd been trained to think; to act, to believe, to behave.

And as each day passed, he grew more and more conflicted. With himself, with his bloodline, with everything that had been ingrained in his mind since he was a small child. He had joined Potter's Order for the sake of protecting himself and his parents from imprisonment.

But now what? Now what did he believe in? He didn't know; maybe he'd never actually known. Maybe he'd just been absorbing and digesting the hatred and disgust that had been spoon-fed to him his entire life. Maybe there wasn't anything _worth_ believing in. He just...didn't know anymore.

So he had invested as much of himself into finding the Elder Wand as possible. After they had failed to locate the item in question inside the depths of McGonagall's office, he had suggested they check the Hogwarts grounds; he still stuck by his defense that Potter had probably dropped it around the same location he'd last been seen fighting with the Dark Lord before his fall. But his idea had been as useless as hers-they searched every sight of the grounds and the surrounding areas for a few days and came up with nothing. Draco was at his wit's end. Granger was starting to panic. It seemed as though they were truly out of options; as if the wand would never make its presence known.

That's when she'd gotten the idea.

Once she'd suggested it, it really seemed rather ridiculous that neither one of them had thought to look there sooner. They'd been seated in the library, sifting through books and struggling to find any mention of the Elder Wand, when she'd suddenly gasped in revelation. Leaning forward, she had then described to him a room destined for lost objects; a room that they had both made use of at one point. A space in the castle that was designed for the very purpose they were searching for: retrieving an object said to be lost forever.

The Room of Requirement.

"I remember where it is," She assured him as they tore through the castle; there was something about the determination that lined her features that defined her, in a sense. She was walking briskly towards the floor their destination was located on, her bushy brown hair whipping behind her and her shoes clacking against the worn stone floor of the castle at a near-violent pace.

"It's not exactly hard to find, Granger," Draco had drawled, rolling his eyes and scoffing. "Not if you really _need_ it; not if you've _used_ it before."

He'd gotten a heated glare for that one.

The tricky thing about the Room of Requirement was that its presence was never an absolute guarantee; it came and went with the desires and needs of the pupils of the school. If Draco hadn't known about the secluded room by the time he'd acquired his Dark Mark, his entire sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry might have spiraled even more out of control than it already had. He could only hope that the room would present itself to them today; that it would recognize the urgency and necessity that came with them being admitted into its depths. So when they reached the seventh floor and Granger stepped tentatively towards the approximate location, her eyes wide as she surveyed the wall before them, he realized it was just a normal wall-devoid of any possible secret openings or emerging doors. For a moment Draco felt his heart sink and deflate-they had failed.

But then Hermione's eyes were fluttering closed, and he heard as she inhaled a shaky, jagged burst of air. Glancing over in her direction, he was struck with the desire to inquire after what the _hell_ she was doing, but he was almost afraid to disturb her. She looked so peaceful like this; so filled to the brim with concentration that he couldn't bear to turn away. From the way her lips pursed slightly to the way her eyelids fluttered as she centered her energy and focus around one single thought. Her fingers twitched ever-so-slightly at her sides, and the impulse to reach out and take one of her dainty hands into his much larger ones repulsed and astonished Draco so much that he forced himself to tear his gaze away from her. Clearing his throat, he instead turned to face the wall before them.

If he had been worried at all about the Room of Requirement, his fears evaporated the moment his gaze had been set again on the ancient walls of the castle. He watched as the solid wall began to shift and transform as an elegant door with a large metal handle emerged out of nowhere, solidifying before them with the promise of everything that lay just inside its concealed four walls. She'd done it; she had somehow managed to entice the Room of Requirement into a state of visibility.

He had to admit...he was impressed.

"How did you..." He trailed off, gaping at the extravagant door that had assembled before their very eyes. Whatever he'd been planning to end that sentence with died off on his lips, and Draco swallowed harshly before Granger finally took the initiative to move forward, grasping the large metal handle in her small hand and twisting. With a soft creak the door opened, and both Gryffindor and Slytherin slipped inside of the room's mysterious depths, shutting the entrance behind them with a loud click.

Draco's gaze swept around the room; it looked rather similar to when he'd used it over a year ago. There were stacks of trinkets and possessions long ago forgotten-stacks and piles of material items that had either been deserted out of neglect or lost and had yet to find their way back home. In a space as huge as this that was crammed with thousands of rotting items, Draco had no idea where the hell to even begin. Given the silence that had fallen over his usually-talkative partner, he could assume that she had felt the same way. They had successfully made it inside of the Room of Requirement, but there was still one question that hung in the air, taunting and teasing them: where to start?

"I suppose..." Granger began, clearly straining to think of an appropriate place for them to start. Her gaze swept over the room; over the high piles and stacks of clutter and debris that was pressing in around them. So many material possessions long forgotten...did any of the owners miss them? Did the Wizards and Witches these goods had belonged to even speculate where their things had gone off to? Draco couldn't help but wonder...and as Granger took another step into the place and glanced around, he couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way. He thought a lot about what she mused over and considered these days-his interest and fascination in the inner mechanisms of her mind had increased at an alarming rate. It was, for lack of a better word, _disturbing_.

"...we should just start glancing through the piles," She finished, and Draco gave a slight jolt of surprise. He'd almost forgotten she was talking. Instead of responding verbally, Draco merely nodded with a stiff jerk of his head, moving towards a pile containing nothing but what looked like worn textbooks. He needed some space from her; some time to himself to gather up his frantic thoughts-to calm his nerves and take a deep, relaxing breath. She was messing with his head-she was fucking up his thought process and changing the way he felt and thought about things. And he was _exhausted_; he just...wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep. He wanted everything to go back to the way it had once been.

Or did he?

For all the trouble she'd caused, Granger had gifted Draco with the one thing that no one else had been able to-the ability to feel more freely than he had in years. He would never be like her; he could never express his emotions so carelessly and clumsily as she did, but...he'd been able to let down his guard just a fraction of an inch in her presence the past few months. Surely that alone spoke wonders of what her company did to him- she both soothed and unsettled him. It was a confusing combination of emotions; something complex and intricate that he couldn't even _begin_ to make out. The emotions were sticky and messy and smudged with chaotic uncertainty, and as disturbing as it was, Draco wasn't sure he wanted to give that up. Not that he had tasted a bit of the insanity that came with Hermione Granger-not that he knew what it felt like to be irrational and ridiculous and careless now.

"This place is so...cheerless," He heard her say; her voice was soft and close. It was warm and comfortable; it soothed him. He studied her, knowing that she would be oblivious to the way his silver eyes drank in every inch of her-she was standing over a pile of long-forgotten journals, caressing the spines with delicate strokes of her fingers. "Everything's lost and forgotten."

"They're just waiting for someone to take them home, is all," He responded, his voice gruff. He turned away from her to flip absent-mindedly through a tattered copy of a Potions book, his throat thick and swollen with emotion.

That's what Granger was like: coming home.

"Malfoy!" Granger's voice broke him out of his reverie; he blinked a few times in mild confusion before turning his attention back to her. She was deeper inside of the spacious room now, pointing to something just barely hidden from his eyesight. Confused, he walked towards her, pausing the moment he made out the large, dark, unmistakable shape of the one magical object that had caused him such distress when he was only sixteen years old.

The Vanishing Cabinet. Somehow, it was still here.

Facing the cabinet was like glancing back at the demons of your past. Draco could recall the despair; the humiliation and fear and frustration that accompanied this charmed hunk of wood. Onslaughts of terror that left him weak in the knees and dry in his throat pervaded his mind-he felt vicious stabs of memories from his past; of days and nights where he had spent all of his time perfecting the cabinet and making it possible for the mission he'd been assigned. He knew that if he stretched out his hand, the tips of his fingers would brush against the soft wood of the box that had been left to rot; he knew that if he touched it, the memories would be a thousand times more intense and brutal. It would scorch him to the touch, and as much as he wanted to turn around and leave this part of his life behind him, he knew he couldn't. Rather than answering Granger's abrupt call, he made his way past her and towards the cabinet. Reaching for the handle, a jolt of electricity ran up and down his arm and he attempted to steady himself. Breathing in a greedy gulp of air, he pulled on the cabinet and opened it.

It was empty.

Had he really expected it to be anything else, though? Was he waiting for some sort of sign? For something from his past to come flying out and smother him as he'd so often feared? It felt as though he was always waiting for something these days-for change, for destruction, for disillusionment. For anything to break him from his thoughts and distract him from the questions that choked him. But if he had been expecting a symbolic sort of attachment to this chest-to what lied inside of the cabinet-he didn't find it. He didn't find anything but an empty cabinet; devoid of life and meaning and everything in-between.

Empty. Vacant. He thought the words were very fitting; very reflective of himself.

He didn't know if she was watching him, or if she'd moved on to inspect another pile. It didn't really matter to him in that moment-for all it was worth, there was nothing else in the room but this cabinet. Timid, he glanced inside the unoccupied cabinet once more before hesitantly stepping inside; he wasn't sure what had motivated him to do so, but no sooner had he placed both feet firmly on the inside of the cabinet than he felt something brush against his arm. Stiffening, he turned and saw Granger observing him. Her warm brown eyes were wide with something akin to concern, and as much as he wanted to tell her to bugger off or make up some excuse as to why he was standing inside of a Vanishing Cabinet in the middle of the Room of Requirement, he found that all speech evaded him. His tongue felt thick and his mind foggy, so he merely watched with cautious eyes as-after a moment's deliberation-Hermione raised a foot and lifted herself up into the cabinet along with him, fumbling slightly when she lost her balance and...

Accidentally kicked the door shut behind her in the process.

Pressed tightly against one another, the pair was enveloped in a thick blanket of darkness that hung in the air around them. He'd barely been able to adjust his eyes to the dimness of the small space they found themselves pushed together in when he felt a strange sort of tickle behind his navel. The tight pull of Apparation surrounded him in that moment, and he swore he felt as though he was going to pass out. He scrambled for something to hold onto as he felt himself being transported, and the only thing he could find was...Granger. Her hands had wound themselves around his waist, tugging on the soft cotton of his shirt fiercely as they were torn from the security of Hogwarts to...to where? Draco could only think of one place the Vanishing Cabinet would be sending them-to the sister cabinet it shared a passage with.

In Borgin and Burkes.

By the time the tight, uncomfortable sensation had ebbed away, Draco's shoulders sagged slightly and he exhaled in relief. His fingers were curled into the fabric of Granger's shirt, and while he knew he needed to release her and move as far away from her as he could manage...he didn't. He stayed close; he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her perfume that mixed with the fruity aroma of her shampoo. It was a tantalizing mixture, and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip in order to distract himself from how alluring he found her scent. He could hear nothing over the pounding of his heart and the harsh and labored sounds of their breathing, and he swore that he could feel her heart beating an uneven staccato against his own. The outline of her body molded against his seamlessly, and just when he was preparing to speak and suggest that they venture outside, he heard a thunderous male voice.

"When will she be ready?" The first voice growled-masculine and low. It was full of a sort of ferocity that Draco faintly recognized, and as his blonde brows knit together in a fit of confusion, all he could wonder was who the voice belonged to. Risking the chance of being caught, Draco untangled his limbs from Granger's, reaching over and opening the door of the cabinet just a crack. Blinking and glancing frantically around the dusty establishment of what was-unmistakably-Borgin and Burkes, he spotted two cloaked figures standing near a shelf of what appeared to be pickled goblin eyes. One of them was much bulkier than the other; it was the one who had spoken just moments ago, and judging by his girth alone, he had to be something other than a Wizard. So when he angled his body and Draco caught a glimpse of the face underneath the hood of his robes, he had to refrain from inhaling sharply.

It was Fenrir Greyback.

The other man was a mystery, and try as he might to figure out who it was the werewolf was communicating with, it was to no avail. His palms were sweating as he gripped the corner of the cabinet, holding on tightly as he struggled to hear the exchange between the two-Fenrir would surely work for Bellatrix now; he _had_ to know something about the Witch's plans.

"She has everything she needs for the attack-she's merely waiting for the appropriate time to strike," The mysterious second man responded; his voice was eloquent and smooth-it spoke of an aristocratic upbringing and all of the regality that came with being an ancient member of a Pureblood family.

But who _was_ he?

"So she has them all, then? The Deathly Hallows?" Fenrir seemed skeptical.

"No," The second man corrected, his voice low and even. "The Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility have evaded her. But she's in possession of the most crucial of them all-the Elder Wand."

In that moment, Draco swore he felt his heart drop. They were too late; Bellatrix already had the wand. Without it, things were bleak; useless, almost. Without the wand, it gave her the upper hand. And something told Draco that the man speaking to Greyback knew this; something told him that this man-this _stranger_-was Bellatrix's right hand man. And he was completely right-she was in possession of perhaps the most crucial of all of the Deathly Hallows: the Elder Wand.

It was debatable, of course, that the Wand was the most significant; some might argue that the Cloak of Invisibility was superior, for it allowed people to hide from their enemies. Others might claim that the Resurrection Stone was the most pertinent; it gave people the ability to bring back the dead. But for Draco, it was the Elder Wand-it was the wand that had once belonged to Dumbledore. To Voldemort.

To him.

"So when do we attack?" Fenrir inquired eagerly, breaking Draco out of his state of panic long enough to listen.

"Soon enough, Fenrir, calm down; your bloodlust is nearly as outrageous as Bellatrix's."

"I can't stay holed up in that damn house forever-you know that," Fenrir growled, baring his glittering white teeth at the cloaked man. House? Where the hell were they hiding out at?

"You can manage for a few more days, _Greyback_," The second man hissed, his voice growing harsh with impatience. "Bellatrix is calling for a meeting at the Shrieking Shack in four days' time-that's when we will discuss what to do with the Order."

"And then we attack?"

"Yes, Fenrir-and then we attack," The man sighed, clearly growing tired of answering the wolfish man's questions. There was a visible shift in the sliver of light through with Draco could see from his cramped position inside of the Vanishing Cabinet, and he noticed that the pair was heading towards the door. He heard the ruffling of metal clinking together-as though one of the men was rooting around in his pocket for loose change. He listened for any further conversation, but could hear nothing but the rattle of money and the slapping of coins down on the counter top for a few passing moments. And then, just when he thought they were done conversing for the day, the second man said to Fenrir-

"We'd best get heading back; you know how Bellatrix hates to be left waiting."

"Do we at least know _where_ we're meant to attack the Order from?" Fenrir asked, clearly trying to weasel information out of the other man. It was clearly established that the unknown Wizard was in charge out of the two-Fenrir had always been a lower-level lackey, more or less, but something about the way this man...addressed the werewolf made Draco feel uneasy; like he knew he held the authority in the situation. Like he _relished_ in it.

"At the heart of where the Wizarding World rests, of course," The other man replied scathingly. "The Ministry of Magic. After that, we erupt into war-and we take down the Wizengamot and the Order in the process."

If the two continued their conversation, it was out of the earshot of either Draco or Hermione. The air in the Vanishing Cabinet had grown still, and when he heard the front door to Borgin and Burkes slam shut after their departure, he shut the door of the Vanishing Cabinet with a thud. This action alone must have triggered something, for that same pull and tug of Apparation rattled his bones and pressed in around him. His hands were clammy as he clawed at the wood of the Cabinet, nearly tumbling out of the wooden box as he felt their journey draw to a close. Gulping in as much air as he could manage, he staggered out of the Vanishing Cabinet and into the Room of Requirement. His legs were like lead; heavy and uncomfortable under the weight of what he'd just learned. Only just now remembering Granger's presence, he whipped around to face her. His heart was hammering in his chest, and the fear he felt coursing through his veins was easily mirrored on her fair features. She was a sickly pallor, her fingers trembling as she brushed a sweat-dampened curl out of her face.

"What do we do?" He managed, his voice hoarse and desperate. His grey eyes searched hers frantically-stormy and turbulent as he sought a solution to their problem. He was praying to Merlin that she would have an answer; she just _had_ to. She _always_ had an answer-a theory, a speculation, a plan. Granger was the one who thought things out; she was the one who planned and memorized and strategized. If anyone knew a way out of this sticky situation, it was her. But all she could say was-

"We prepare for war."

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><p><strong>aN**: I hope everyone's doing well! Now that my first year of college is over, I should have more time to update! Things are actually pretty hectic for me right now, but I found the time to write the chapter and figured, "Why the hell not?!" I hope it sounds alright-things are about to get really heated in the plot, so I've been trying to set that up, as you can probably guess with this chapter! I have the next handful of chapters planned; I don't know when they'll be out, but at least I know what i want to happen in them! Again, I hope you're all having a great year so far! Don't forget to review and let me know what you think :).


	18. Mudblood

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Seventeen: **Mudblood

_"It's a disgusting thing to call someone. Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous."_

_- Ron Weasley_

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><p>The world was being thrown into chaos, and Hermione Granger feared that at any moment, it would burst into flames. She had lived through one war recently, and the promise of another one breaking out was terrifying enough to make her skin crawl. The memories of what the war had done to everyone-how it had ruined them and destroyed everything-was still fresh in her mind, and she suspected it always would be. It was imprinted into her very skeleton-burned into her memory forever. She would never be able to leave the war behind, but perhaps she could move forward. She planned to; she <em>wanted<em> to. One of these days.

Bellatrix Lestrange's battle campaign conflicted with that plan.

The news that she and Malfoy had intercepted had been a devastating blow to their plans-to Hermione, it had felt as if everything they'd spent weeks and months searching to prevent had been for nothing. Bellatrix had the wand-who _knew_ how long she'd kept it in her clutches for. Who _knew_ what kind of power she could possess with it alone. It was a powerful sort of weapon, the Elder Wand; one to most certainly not be misused. And Hermione had the strongest hunch that the grand misuse of this dangerous weapon crafted by Death himself would be _exactly_ what Bellatrix had in mind. She wasn't, after all, known for her skills in strategy and careful planning.

It was strange to think that two members of the very same family now could say they held possession of the most powerful wand known to the Wizarding World. What was even stranger to Hermione was just how _different_ both aforementioned family members were from one another. Bellatrix was...Merlin, she was a _monster_. She was callous and cruel and the perfect embodiment of evil. She lived without a conscience; a dangerous combination when paired with her bloodlust. She was a mad, mad woman, Bellatrix was, and on a certain level...she frightened Hermione. The young woman was instantly reminded of the words the insane Death Eater had engraved into her very flesh, tugging on the sleeve of her shirt to hide the word that tainted her very flesh. And then there was Draco-Draco, who could be the world's biggest _prat_, but was capable of emotions so raw and real that it left Hermione dizzy. There was a side of the former Slytherin that so many chose to overlook in favor of condemning him for his status as a Death Eater. Hermione had been guilty of doing it once, too. But now? Now, all she could seem to see whenever she looked at Draco was how...how _good_ he could be. He'd be disgusted by her choice of words, but...it was the truth. Malfoy had proven to be so much more than the Wizard she'd convinced herself he was long ago, and she was...relieved.

She could protect herself from Bellatrix, but...knowing that he would be there with her through it all helped somehow. Malfoy was a changed man, and she held more trust and confidence in his abilities than she did with nearly anyone else.

Nevertheless, Hermione _was_ scared. The terror seeped through her veins and controlled her-at any moment, she was afraid that she would turn around and face the cold and unforgiving gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange and her army of followers. She was a Gryffindor-she was supposed to be built on bravery and courage and selfless acts of devotion and dedication. So where was her bravery now? Where was her self-assurance that their side would win the impending war, no matter what? She knew that she was human, and that fear was-of course-a necessary part of life. But...she'd already lived through the Second Wizarding War. Through the worst of it all; Voldemort was deceased now, so what was there to fear? One last pathetic attempt for the lingering Death Eaters to gain power? To try and rise above the Ministry and overthrow the Wizarding World's government once more?

She tried to calm herself with the knowledge that they would be prepared for anything this time around. That in itself was a rather broad statement to make, but...she had the Order. She'd been sent on this mission alongside Malfoy by Harry himself. Things...things would end up alright. They _had_ to-she was too close to freedom now to fail. Too close to the independence that she-as a Muggle-born-deserved. And Hermione Granger _refused_ to have her human rights stripped from her.

She would claim her humanity, even if it was the last thing she did.

It was the night before she and Malfoy were meant to head out and ambush Bellatrix at the Shrieking Shack, and Hermione's nerves were a jumbled mess. She was sitting in an over-stuffed chair in the corner of the room she was staying in at Hogwarts, flipping through a small notebook she'd kept with her throughout the duration of their journey. Her dainty fingers trailed across the scrawled and swirled writing of thoughts and findings that she'd quickly jotted down in the midst of their mission. So much time had passed, and yet...it felt as though she'd been preparing to leave 12 Grimmauld Place just yesterday. In the blink of an eye, her entire world had changed; she'd been through so much on this expedition, and the realization that she'd grown and experienced so much in the presence of _Draco Malfoy_ was...shocking, admittedly.

And what she felt for him was even more monumental.

She knew, deep down, that he could never know the true extent of her feelings when it came to him. Aside from the raw and heavy humiliation she would have to bear if he got even the slightest inkling of how she felt, Hermione was forced to acknowledge that he wasn't hers to claim. More and more frequently as of late, she'd had to remind herself of this single fact. On a certain level, she felt filthy for being the mistress of a man who had a long-term relationship waiting for him back home. As much as she tried to soothe her guilt by telling herself that he didn't love Astoria the way he was supposed to, it didn't ease the weight pressing down on her conscience. She was fooling around with a man who would-in due time-be set to marry someone else.

And Godric, it _killed_ her.

She had been encroaching on the final pages of her journal when she heard a knock on the door that connected her suite to Malfoy's. Jumping, she slammed the book shut and stuff it into her nightstand, tugging an errant strand of curls behind her ear and sitting up straight in her seat. She knew it had to be Draco calling, of course, but...she couldn't possibly think as to what his reason would be for venturing into her sleeping chambers.

Perhaps he was just wanting to make some things about tomorrow clear. Yes...that had to be all it was.

"Come in," She managed, her voice slightly shaky. Merlin, what was _wrong_ with her?! She heard the door creak and Malfoy soon emerged, shutting it behind him and tentatively stepping into her room. His eyes glanced over her surroundings before falling on her, and he stopped abruptly. He seemed...nervous, almost. Uncertain.

"Is something the matter, Malfoy?" She inquired, unable to help the way her heart sped up in his presence.

"Nothing's the matter, no, I was just...wanting to speak with you about tomorrow," He stated, stepping into the room. Hermione watched as he wiped his hands against his trousers, and after a moment or two of studying him intently, she stood and made her way towards him.

"What about tomorrow, Malfoy?"

"Do we know if we're going to have back-up or not? Is there any way to ensure our _safety_, Granger?" He managed, his voice taut with emotion. His brows were furrowed together in a clear display of bemusement, and Hermione wished she could wipe that look off his pale and aristocratic features. "Because right now I feel like we're bait-just waiting for someone like Bellatrix to come along and bloody Kedavra us right out of the damn Shrieking Shack."

He was nervous; that much she could tell. He always cursed and spoke loudly when he was upset or anxious. It was one of his many habits that she'd grown accustomed to in the time they'd spent together. She wanted to somehow soothe his worries-to tell him that everything would be alright. She couldn't guarantee such an outcome or fate for the both of them, but...Godric, she wished she could. She wished it with everything in her. That along with...other things.

"I realize that things aren't perfect, Malfoy," Hermione began, tugging on the sleeves of her nightshirt. "But we've done all we can to prepare for tomorrow. We've informed Harry and he's promised us that he'll have some troops ready for a possible battle tomorrow." She hated phrasing it like that. It made the undertones of war stick out more prominently.

It terrified her.

"Have we, Granger? What sort of promises have we been left with, exactly? Because last time I checked, everything was still up in the bloody air."

"That's not true!" She exclaimed, exasperated. "Harry's going to lead the army over to the Shrieking Shack tomorrow afternoon, and Colin Creevey's going to be in charge of signaling when we're ready for him. He'll be hiding in the Shrieking Shack's cellar, waiting until the two of us enter. Then he'll alert the others through the system of charmed coins they've set up for emergencies. After that, Harry and the others will ambush Bellatrix and whoever else she's brought along. So you see, really, it's all figured out."

Draco hadn't even let her finish before he was barking out a cold, cruel laugh.

"Colin Creevey?" Draco sputtered incredulously, taking a step towards her. "You expect me to trust _Colin bloody Creevey _with something like this?!"

"_Yes_, Draco, Colin Creevey," Hermione stated angrily, her brows furrowing together. She understood that he was apprehensive about their mission, but there was no reason to grow so angry with poor Colin about it! "What's wrong with Colin? He's dedicated to the cause and wants to prove his worth! He's the greatest person for the job, Malfoy, and you know it."

"He's ridiculously naive, Granger," Draco spat at her, his arms flailing around madly. "He's inexperienced and ignorant and nothing more than a stupid little Mudb-"

He stilled then, and it felt like the world had frozen around them. Hermione's heart was pounding furiously in her chest, and try as she might to ignore it, she felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Angry at the betrayal of her emotions, she blinked away her tears quickly. How could she _possibly_ have been foolish enough to believe that Malfoy's views of the world had changed? That he no longer regarded those of lesser bloodlines as inferior? She'd thought that maybe, given how close they'd grown over the past few months, that things...that things had _changed_ between them. She'd been foolish enough to think that she'd had some sort of impact on him.

Clearly, she was wrong.

"Granger..." Draco managed finally, his voice taut and thick with emotion. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did," She snapped, her voice shaking. Her brown eyes bored into his own, and in that moment she swore she'd never felt so humiliated in her entire life. Nothing-_nothing_-could compare to this sensation of disappointment and deflation. She felt as though her heart had been ripped right out of her chest, and it was all because of him. Because she'd let herself grow too close to Draco Malfoy for comfort. "That's what he is to you, isn't he? A Mudblood. That's what we all are to you, aren't we, Malfoy? Filthy, inferior _Mudbloods_."

The word fell like venom from her lips, and she wished with everything in her that this was all a dream. But it wasn't. This was real, and she was being forced to deal with the consequences of being emotionally attached to someone as...as insensitive and prejudiced as Draco Malfoy.

But she'd thought he was different. She'd almost been certain of it.

"That's _not_ true," Draco protested, taking a step towards her. He seemed unbearably frustrated, and Hermione eyed her tall partner suspiciously as she waited for him to continue. "I don't-Granger, you aren't a Mudblood. I just..._damn it_, don't you _understand_?"

"_No_, Malfoy, I _don't_."

"You're the _exception_!" He blurted out, his eyes growing wide. "You've been the exception for _months_ now, Granger-I don't see you the way I see the rest of the world. I can't...look at you and see you as anything other than Granger. As anything other than...who you've become to me."

Hermione grew silent after that, reeling in shock. He'd revealed so much to her in his tirade, and she had to take a few moments to collect and gather her thoughts. Malfoy had, more or less, just informed Hermione that she meant something to him. And while that was...all that she'd wanted for weeks now, it wasn't enough. Not in this context. Not with the knowledge that the word Mudblood could still fall so easily from his lips. She felt a dull ache spread from her chest to the very tips of her fingers, and she knew that the next words she uttered would break her heart. She wanted Malfoy-wanted him more than she had any right to desire any sort of claim over another human being-but she respected herself too much to cave into her basic human instincts. Perhaps it was pride; maybe it was something else altogether. But whatever the label may be, one thing was absolutely certain-Hermione respected herself too much to let something like this go.

Even for Malfoy.

Balling her tiny hands into fists, her nostrils flared angrily and she stepped forward. Allowing her anger to control her every move, she lifted a hand and jabbed a finger against his chest, trembling from head-to-toe with rage so raw and potent that it nearly destroyed her.

"I am _no one's_ exception, Draco Malfoy," She began, her voice cracking. "If you think of one Wizard or Witch as a Mudblood, then you think of _all_ of us in the same way. I am not an exception to my bloodline, and you aren't one to yours. You either view us all as equals, or you believe us all to be inferior. There is no in-between, and how _dare_ you treat me as though there is."

"You're different, Granger," Draco protested, clearly trying to get her to understand. "I just...I don't know, alright? It was an accident-I shouldn't have said it. I can't even _think_ of the word when it comes to you, but I just...fuck. You're not that, alright? You haven't been that to me for...a long time."

"I'm not different," She continued, throwing her arms up in the air. "I'm a Mudblood and proud of it, Malfoy! You can't ignore who I am; you've got to be open to it and embrace the side of me that's so _different_ from you. And if you can't accept me for who I am, then maybe...then maybe this isn't going to work. Maybe I'm a fool."

"Don't say that, Granger-_don't_," Draco continued, and Hermione would swear she heard a hint of desperation in his tone. An urgency to make her understand. "What's broken can be mended-we can fix this."

"Some things can't be repaired, Malfoy," Hermione stated, her voice growing quiet. Her hand dropped from where she'd been poking at his chest and she tugged her arms around her torso, pulling the sleeves of her nightshirt down as she did so. "I think it would be best if you left."

"...Granger, you have to understand-"

"-No, Malfoy, I _don't_. I'm tired of trying to understand and excuse you for something that you should have had the sense to grow out of by now. I'm tired of trying to find reasons to excuse your actions. I'm so _tired_, Malfoy."

"...Granger..." He tried again, reaching out a hand to touch her. Hermione flinched away, taking a step back and pressing her lips together in a thin line. A part of her wanted to reach forward and collapse into his arms; she wanted to swat at him and scream and cry and yell at him for all the times he'd hurt her in the past. She wanted to demand explanations for things she had no right to know, but most of all...she wanted to pretend this entire night hadn't happened.

"I said _go_, Malfoy," She said sternly. "_Now_."

Draco hesitated only briefly before dropping his hand. She could tell that he didn't want to stay, but Hermione had heard all she wanted to from him for the evening. To her, there was nothing left to say; the damage he'd inflicted was already done, and she wanted to be left alone to deal with the repercussions of his actions. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other uneasily, tugging a wild curl behind her ear and watching the Wizard who had grown to mean so much to her stumble away. As he opened the door that connected their rooms and paused, she was nearly certain he was going to say something to her. Maybe he wanted to apologize again-maybe he wanted to excuse his actions. But whatever it was that was clearly trying to form itself on the tip of Malfoy's tongue died away, for he exited the room with a heavy sigh and shut the door behind him, leaving Hermione alone.

She waited until all noise and rustling from his room had died down before collapsing face first down onto her bed. Burying her face against one of the pillows she'd been given, Hermione allowed her muffled cries to fall from her lips. They were strangled noises that choked her to the point of asphyxiation; they were brutally raw and intense and Hermione prayed for the pain to end. She swore her heart had cracked in half tonight, and as she clawed desperately at the cotton sheets beneath her, she prayed to Merlin that her pain and suffering would end. She prayed for the relief that never came, and for the removal of memories that were permanently embedded in her mind. She thought of the scar on her forearm and was instantly repulsed; it scarred and stung her skin at the mere memory, and as Hermione pulled her trembling arm off the bed and turned it over to appraise the jagged lines that marked the word "Mudblood" into her skin, she realized that...that there were some people you couldn't save. That there were some people who would always be prejudiced and racist beyond repair. And as she squirmed into a sitting position and wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks, she'd never been more aware of this very fact. Tentatively, she lifted a hand and ran an index finger along the scar, tracing over each letter and muttering the word underneath her breath. She was just a little girl when the term was introduced to her...the Death Eaters and elitists wanted to make it her identifier. She was marked with the scar of prejudice and hatred that spanned decades, and what she felt wasn't disgust with herself or embarrassment for who she was, but...determination. Determination to prove them all wrong-to rise above and move against the current. To _defeat_ them. But there was something raw under her determined mindset-something that ached and craved for the Wizard lying in bed one room over.

And it was only then, in the darkness of her room and the vulnerability of her emotions on display, that Hermione allowed herself to admit the very thought that had been struggling to seep through her subconscious for the past few weeks.

She was in love with Draco Malfoy. And he still thought of her as nothing more than a Mudblood.

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><p><strong>aN:** I know I don't usually quote characters from the series at the beginning, but I thought that quote from Ron was perfect for this chapter! I hope you're all having a great time-it's the middle of the summer for me, and I'm finally settling into my new house! Please-leave comments and reviews to let me know how you're liking this chapter and the story so far :). Next chapter comes some big time action! Get ready!


	19. Bravery

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Eighteen:** Bravery

_"Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid."_

_- Franklin P. Jones_

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><p>There was one thought that continuously pounded its way through Draco's head—it was beating a steady, heavy rhythm into his very skeleton; dominant and demanding.<em> Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.<em> It was the single thought to surface to the base of his mind; it both humiliated and infuriated him. How could he have been so bloody _stupid_? To say that word-that damned _word_-in front of Granger. It was some twisted form of suicide; it was sacrificing everything clandestine and intimate that they'd begrudgingly built together. And despite the fact that Draco struggled to convince himself time and time again that he didn't need her-that he didn't _want_ her in his life-he was still filled with this sense of...of...of something akin to regret. He couldn't pinpoint the emotion, not exactly, but it tasted of the shame and anger that accompanied remorse. He knew that he'd made a mistake the moment the word threatened to fall from his lips. And even more importantly...Draco knew that there was absolutely _nothing_ he could do or say to make it better. He couldn't take back the insult; wasn't even sure he would if the opportunity rose. A very proud sort of individual, Draco had fucked himself over in more ways than he could count-he'd destroyed the silent sense of comfort and trust that he and Granger shared with one another.

He'd been responsible for the destruction of everything between them. And his downfall was his own past-Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.

It pounded in his brain like the steady and thunderous beat of a drum.

The problem, he supposed, was that he_ didn't_ view Granger in the same light as others of her bloodline. She felt like an exception to him; why, he wasn't sure. Perhaps viewing her as an exception to an ingrained set of rules made things easier-it helped him cope with the fact that he had formed an emotional attachment to one who was considered so far beneath him. That was what she was supposed to be-inferior. Less _human_ than he was.

But...she wasn't. Her touch was warm; her lips soft and her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his own. She was everything that he'd been taught to hate; everything he'd been taught to rage against.

He wouldn't go as far as to say she was exactly like him, because she wasn't, but she was close enough that he could detect her humanity. In some facets of life, Draco would even go far enough as to say that she was _better_ than him.

That was it, then. She was better than him.

He mused over this fact as he got ready in the afternoon; as he headed down to share a silent lunch in the Great Hall. As he spoke with McGonagall and prepared for voyage to the Shrieking Shack with Granger. He would never admit his sentiments to Granger, of course, and yet it was the only thing he could think to focus on. Thoughts of _her_ surrounded him-the conversation they'd shared the night before embedded into his memory like a footprint across his mind. And, oddly enough, he thought of Colin Creevey. Of those dopey eyes that had looked up at his precious bloody Potter so many years ago; of those stubby fingers permanently curled around his large black camera. Of that hopeful smile and the disgusting need to please the Golden Trio. Draco thought of Colin Creevey far more than he ever had in the past-he gave the young Wizard the sort of consideration he would have sneered at a year or two ago. His face surfaced to the front of Draco's mind, and the young blond couldn't seem to quite make sense of it all. He didn't feel guilty for insulting Creevey (why should he, really?), but he felt...anger. Bitter resentment that his blatant disgust of this rather insignificant individual had ruined something Draco hadn't even been aware he couldn't live without.

Again, though, he'd never tell Granger any of this. There was no need for her to know; especially not now. Not when she loathed him as much as she did.

He found himself wishing as he finished his final preparations for the day that there was some way to make her understand; if she could only sit herself in Draco's shoes for a moment or two, she would begin to comprehend the reasons behind his actions. He didn't know _why_ he desired her comprehension so bloody much, just that he did. But if there was anything Draco knew about Hermione Granger, it was that she was stubborn as hell-once she was set in her ways, there was no way of changing her mind. Hardheaded to a bloody fault, she was.

Then again, so was he.

So it was with a heavy sigh and an irritated grunt that Draco finished fixing the collar of his shirt, scowling at his reflection in the mirror before snatching his wand off of its resting place near the nightstand. He was set to meet Granger in the corridors any minute now, and a part of him was...anxious. They hadn't so much as spoken since their argument the night before, and while Draco was painstakingly aware of the fact that he _shouldn't_ have given a shit what Granger thought about him or how she treated him, he did. He did, and he hated himself for it.

He was determined to stay quiet. Somehow, some way, he would keep his mouth shut. The more determinedly he ignored Granger, the quicker they could get this all over with. Clearly she had the same idea, for no sooner had he shut the door behind him leading out into the hall then he spotted her turning around quickly on her heels and briskly walking down the narrow corridor. Draco bit back the instinctive urge to bark out a sarcastic comment in her direction, focusing on flexing his wand arm as means of distracting himself. Ignore, ignore, ignore; that was the plan. _Ignore her_.

But he couldn't. Not fully, anyway. So he settled for watching her-she was a few paces ahead of him by now, and Draco studied her movements. The slight sashay of her hips; the way her barely-restrained hair bounced with each step. Everything seemed practiced and controlled-even her footsteps seemed clipped and curt (if that was even bloody possible in the first place). She seemed so...so _tense_, and this relieved Draco to a certain extent.

Because even though neither one of them had bothered to talk since the night before, at least Draco could take a bit of comfort in the realization that she was just as uncomfortable in his presence as he was in hers. She clearly was at just as much of a loss for what to say as he was; a thought that, oddly enough, amused Draco. If Granger of all sodding people couldn't think of something to say, then the situation was rather bleak.

It was a dark sort of amusement, to be sure, but it distracted him from how angry he felt. With himself, with her, with their entire situation.

So fixated on studying Granger and absorbing his thoughts into her stiff body language, Draco was oblivious to their surroundings. He hadn't even been consciously aware of the fact that they'd descended the staircases and had made their way through the castle until they'd reached the Hogwarts entrance. It was then and only then that Draco blinked three times and surveyed his surroundings, silently berating himself for getting so off-track. Now wasn't the time to fixate on Granger or his troublesome thoughts in regards to her-he needed to focus on the mission he'd been assigned to all those months ago. Weeks and weeks had passed and it felt as though they'd made very little progress-the Resurrection Stone had been collected and stowed away at Order Headquarters along with the Cloak of Invisibility, of course, but Draco still couldn't help but think that they'd been dealt far more losses than they could handle. Too much time had lapsed; Bellatrix had undoubtedly been able to build herself an army...and she had the Elder Wand. Who knew what she planned on doing with it.

One thing was for certain, though-Draco had allowed himself to become _far_ too wrapped up in his partner and the ridiculous complexities of human emotion. Perhaps _that_ was why their mission had turned out to be such a failure-because he had disobeyed his own set of moral rules.

He'd allowed his emotions to get in the way.

"Right then," Granger clipped out, breaking Draco out of his reverie. She turned to face him, tugging a stray curl behind her ear. She'd placed her wild and unruly hair in a tight, barely-controlled braid for the day, but tufts of chestnut curls continued to spill out from the plait and frame her face.

"We've got Neville's maps, our wands, the charmed coin that we can use to contact Harry on an emergency basis…" She began to prattle off, mumbling underneath her breath and checking her various coat pockets to ensure that she had, in fact, packed everything she would need. She was still rather curt as she spoke, directing her comments more to herself than to him, and Draco—begrudgingly—understood why. He'd pissed her off last night, and there was really no going back from it. He was extremely self-conscious of the fact that she would hold this over his head for quite some time.

Forever, maybe, depending on how pissed off she was about the entire ordeal.

The charmed coin, of course, had been Granger's idea. After explaining to him exactly how she'd gotten it to work during their school years together, she'd taken a basic coin rusting with age and had placed what appeared to be a very intricate sort of charm on it, though this time she asserted that the coin's activation, so to speak, would be a bit…different. The coin's creator had to turn the coin twice in hand and would then need to press the pad of his or her thumb against one side of the coin roughly. After that, an alert would be sent to the Order, and Potter could come and…rescue them (Draco was reluctant to use that word).

So…when it all boiled down to it, Granger was the only one with the power to alert Potter and the others if they needed help.

If it wasn't for her, then, they'd be royally fucked. And Draco took care to remember that.

"Is that it, then?" Draco replied rather flatly. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and Hermione returned his rather blank stare with narrowed eyes and an indignant huff.

"Yes, that's it," She snapped back, tugging on the bottom of her coat and turning around. She was gripping her wand in one hand, and Draco watched as the tiny bones in her hand seemed to flex and shift under the pressure in which she was using to clutch her weapon.

She was nervous. She'd never admit it—stubborn Gryffindor that she was—but she was anxious as hell.

Truth be told…he was, too.

The trek from the front of the castle down and about the Hogwarts grounds was a silent and tense one, at that, but just as Draco was preparing to take the familiar walk into Hogsmeade (a shortcut, of course, to reach the Shrieking Shack), Granger yanked on his shirt and pulled him out of the way. She hid them behind a rather large clump of bushes and Draco hesitantly yanked away from her touch, more than a little bewildered.

"What the hell was that for?" He spat accusingly, straightening the rumpled sleeve of his shirt.

"Don't you see?" She hissed, her nose crinkling slightly as she spoke. "We can't just go _waltzing_ into Hogsmeade like we're a couple of eager students, Malfoy! We've got to take precautions! We have to be careful!"

"Well then, how do _you_ predict we get into the bloody Shrieking Shack?" Draco snapped back, his eyes narrowing. He was growing a bit frustrated with her at this point; he understood she was still pissed with him, but was there any reason for her to be so…so damn _impossible_?!

Rather than answer him immediately with some biting retort (as he had been expecting), Granger grew quiet. She nibbled on her lower lip, her brows crinkled together in a fit of concentration. Draco could practically _hear_ the gears in her mind at work and knew instantly that she was busy devising some sort of plan. He stifled the urge to groan, acknowledging that he was still in far too much trouble with her to even _consider_ mocking her plans.

"We'll have to walk around," She said finally, and her words were rewarded with a rather blank stare from her partner.

"_Honestly_, Malfoy—around Hogsmeade," She snapped, huffing irritably. "We'll stick to the trees and shade near the forest, that way we can't be spotted."

Draco wanted to terribly point out just how little he thought of her plan and how utterly ridiculous they'd look hopping from hiding spot to hiding spot, but instead he said nothing. It would be useless, especially at a time as dire as this.

So despite his reservations about her idea, Draco reluctantly allowed Granger to lead the way. He stepped off the path leading down to Hogsmeade, stepping over mud and grass as they made their way around the Wizarding town. He wasn't happy about this—not one bit—but he acknowledged that now was certainly no time to complain. He grew fidgety and irritable when he was anxious over something, and there was no denying the nerves that had settled in his abdomen at the thought of being confronted with his manic aunt after months and months of not seeing her. Bellatrix was…she was insane; driven by bloodlust and revenge and power and—most of all—loyalty to her Dark Lord who was now long since deceased. It was one thing to be assigned to a mission involving capturing and/or taking down a former Death Eater that he had known during his own…active time in the organization. It was another thing entirely to acknowledge that he'd be pitted against a member of his own family.

It was enough to cause his knees to buckle—especially given how vicious and ruthless he knew his aunt to be. In the end, family meant nothing to her; the moment she smelt anything traitorous to her family's noble bloodline, she attacked.

Draco knew he would not be exempt from that rule.

He kept his thoughts to himself, though; perhaps in another life (one where he hadn't royally fucked things up with Granger) he could have voiced his concerns to her. Expressing how he felt was never something that had come easily to the youngest Malfoy, but…he felt as though he could trust Granger. He didn't know why, and a part of him knew he was foolish for thinking so, but she was the closest thing he'd had to a best friend in Merlin knew how long.

And it made him feel guilty, surprisingly enough. Because everything he was expected to feel for Astoria…he felt for the bushy-haired Witch marching in front of him.

And she'd never know.

He lost count of how long they'd walked for; he just knew that it was taking an exceedingly long time to reach their destination. He could spot the outline of buildings nearby and knew that they were still passing through Hogsmeade, but other than the occasional chatter from the town far away, nothing could be heard but the rustling of branches in the wind and the sound of their feet padding against the frozen soil. He didn't want to call out and ask Granger how much longer she'd think it would be before they finally arrived at their destination, knowing full well that she'd turn around and snap at him. So he just…stayed silent; focused on the small sounds around them and trudging his feet forward. Step by step.

After about a half an hour or so of trekking through the wild lands surrounding Hogsmeade (though his timing might have been a bit off, truth be told), the Shrieking Shack finally loomed into view. Said to be the most haunted building in all of the Wizarding World, Draco knew that most Witches and Wizards didn't dare to trespass on the property. He'd attempted to in a very daring sort of rebellious streak when he was younger with Crabbe and Goyle, but the trip had ended rather dismally. It wasn't that he was afraid of the Shrieking Shack or anything; on the contrary, he'd seen enough in the past four or so years of life to disillusion him from being terrified of these sorts of folk legends, it was just that…he knew what lay inside the Shrieking Shack's aging walls. Something far worse than an ancient haunting or curse or whatever it was that so many magical folk had gossiped about for decades.

It held Bellatrix Lestrange, and she was more petrifying than anyone had any right to be.

"…She's really in there, isn't she?" Hermione asked suddenly, her voice a near whisper. Draco grew stiff and rigid, uncertain how to respond to her. He shifted uncomfortably, his finger tracing idly over a ridge in the handle of his wand as he searched his mind for any sort of appropriate response to her comment.

"Yeah," He stated finally, his throat thick.

"I suppose…there's no use in waiting any longer, then," Granger answered, and Draco noticed that there was a certain edge to her voice; hints of resentment and anger over the conversation they'd shared with one another the night before.

"I guess not."

The sun was beginning its slow descent into the Earth, and as Hermione crouched down and began to weave her way through the tall grass that swayed in the chilly winter wind, one revolting thought pounded itself through Draco's frame again and again.

_War. War. War._

It was coming soon; he _could_ feel it. Could feel that same terror seeping through his veins and rocking him to his very core. It was enough to cause his teeth to chatter, and with one last wary look towards the gloomy shack, Draco bent down and began to follow Granger through the thick grass. They were quiet as they stalked through the weeds, keeping their wands close to their sides and their wits about them. Every now and again Hermione would jump when one of them stepped on a twig or kicked a pebble accidentally, and while Draco wanted to snap at the young woman and tell her to calm herself the hell down, he couldn't seem to find the will to speak. His mouth had grown very dry and his fingers trembled with each step he took. He was growing nervous in preparation of what lay ahead of them, and the only comfort Draco could seem to take in their mission was that it would be a surprise attack. He and Granger had gone unnoticed that day back in Borgin and Burkes; they'd hidden themselves rather well in the Vanishing Cabinet. In the end, it had given them a great advantage.

Draco just hoped that they'd be able to use it to their benefit today.

By the time they'd finally reached the small clearing that led to the entrance of the abandoned house, Draco was feeling the pressure to succeed now more than ever. He'd never been a Gryffindor—they weren't skills he was born with, and his time in the Order certainly hadn't given him any particular insight into the advantages of foolish bravery and nobility. He was a Slytherin through and through; quick-witted, sly, and ridiculously cunning. He worked for his own advantage—it was what had provoked him into taking the Dark Mark shortly before his sixth year at Hogwarts, what had enabled him to perform curses against his fellow Death Eaters when he was holed up in Malfoy Manor, and it was even what had been the cause of the young man's defection to the Order. Everything he did was with purpose, and to watch as Hermione straightened primly and shakily dusted off her coat before leading them towards the creaking old shack, Draco wondered how _anyone_ could be born with such reckless courage.

He wondered how it was possible for someone to place the safety of another person over their own. He'd become a Death Eater to protect himself _and_ his parents, of course, but…that was different. People like Granger and Potter and even Weasley—they fought for armies of people they barely knew. They fought for the justification and salvation of thousands of folks—both magical and Muggle—and Draco just didn't see _why_. What was so damn important about protecting the lives of people who did not affect or concern you? Oddly enough, he was struck with the desire to lean forward and ask Hermione just this. Recognizing the notion for what it was—foolish and impulsive—Draco bit his tongue. He needed to keep his eye on the prize and nothing else: capturing Bellatrix was absolutely crucial, and they had to attack from just the right angle. If they couldn't effectively corner her, then all hope would be lost; Bellatrix would slip away and go into hiding all over again, and this time she'd be more impossible to locate than the last.

Draco might not have received the chance to get to know his aunt all that well, but he was well enough in tune with her manner of thinking to recognize what would be her most likely course of action. She was, after all, not just a Black…but a Slytherin, too. She would do whatever it took to save herself; even if it meant taking others down in the process.

A rather nerve-racking fact, so to speak.

"It'll probably be best to slip in through a side door," Hermione mumbled under her breath, her eyes wide as she appraised him. They were hidden in the shade that the house cast across the grass, and Draco fidgeted nervously as he waited for her to continue. "I wish I had thought about the secret tunnel from the Whomping Willow that led directly to the Shack, but then again…I'm not sure either one of us are small enough to fit through it anymore…then again, if Snape had been able to fit through it all those years ago…no matter, I suppose, can't go back now…"

She was rambling now, clearly in a fit of anxiety, and Draco gave her a huff and a stern glare before she finally snapped out of her reverie.

"Right," She managed, blushing and standing straight. "If we go around the side there should be a door; it'll be the entrance that will take them off-guard the most."

"I think any entrance would take them off guard," Draco muttered again, stalking through the grass and following after her either way. Hermione said nothing in response; merely ignored him and pressed her back against the wall of the rundown building. She seemed to be waiting for someone to walk around the corner—a patrolman stationed by Bellatrix herself, perhaps—but after five heart-stopping minutes of waiting (rather breathlessly), Hermione gave a shaky wave of her hand and led them on.

Ordinarily, Draco wouldn't have been as willing to let Granger lead the way. He hated taking orders from anyone—_especially_ her—but he knew that she had her wits about her. Though not the strongest of them two when it came to combat, she was clearly a quick thinker. It was what had allowed her to survive for as long as she had. So…he let her lead the way. He submitted himself without struggle to her orders. Whether it was because he trusted her or because he was too anxious to verbally protest, he didn't know.

He just knew that he was being a hell of a lot more cooperative than he had been with her a year ago.

There was a rustle nearby, and both of them stopped dead in their tracks. He could hear Granger's jagged exhalation of breath, and the desire to reach forward and close his fingers around her shoulder to yank her back was so strong that Draco was nearly furious with himself for it. He lifted his wand slowly, aiming it at the slight movement in the grass, and was preparing to fire out a Stunning spell when a small rabbit came bounding into the clearing, its nose twitching and ears flopping as it hopped.

The entire prospect of being scared shitless by a damned rabbit was enough to nearly have Draco bursting into laughter and hysteria. Instead, though, he swallowed the state of panic that had begun to build and mount in his stomach, listening as Hermione's breathing pattern returned to normal once more. Without so much as a comment about their...intruder, she continued to slink along the side of the house, Draco close behind. Any moment now they could be caught, and once again he reminded himself that it probably would have been wisest to attack at dawn—when the sun was rising and Bellatrix was likely to be most vulnerable; sleeping or just waking up, perhaps. But it was too late to wish for such fruitless things, so he kept quiet about that, too.

By the time they had finally managed to ease their way around the Shack and towards the side door, Draco noticed that dusk was beginning to fall across the horizon. The sun would finish setting before too long, and it was crucial that they locate Bellatrix before night had fallen. Though most of the Shrieking Shack's windows were tightly sealed and boarded up, slivers of light seemed to spill through the cracks in the wood. With the absence of sunlight and nothing but their wands to guide them through the abandoned old house, surely they'd never find her.

Or worse. They would.

The door looked rusty with age, and Draco could tell that it was one rough tug away from being torn away from its hinges. Granger murmured a few enchantments to check for any curses or hexes placed on the entrance, and it was only when she ascertained that they were safe (or as safe as they could be, really, given what they were about to walk into) that she hesitantly reached forward and groped the rusted doorknob. With a twist of the handle and a very feminine sort of grunt, Hermione shoved her weight against the door frame, listening to the door creak with life as it opened. She paused, waiting for any footsteps or sounds that would signal that they'd been discovered. After a few seconds of nothing but thick silence, she breathed out and motioned for Draco to follow her inside. The door swung shut behind them, and they were at once enveloped in darkness. A part of the roof was missing above them, causing a bright beam of yellow sunlight to shine down on the center of the rather large and dusty room they found themselves standing in. It was completely barren, save for the mildew and grime that had collected over years of neglect, and as Draco muttered a low "Lumos" and lit the tip of his wand before surveying the bare area, Hermione began to investigate.

"Malfoy," She said in a low whisper after a few moments, motioning him over with a small wave of her hand. Draco was hesitant to turn his back to the bare room around them, lest they be discovered while Granger was rooting through the Shack, but finally relented and hesitantly made his way over to her.

"What?" He asked in a murmur, glancing around once before joining her. She was standing over a small table littered with various objects; there was a large map of Hogwarts that had ink splotches and illegible quill scratches on it, a small glass object which Draco noticed instantly as a Sneakoscope, and a dagger whose handle was well-worn and aged. He recognized it as his aunt's favorite blade and stretched out his free hand to skim his fingers across the blunt edge of the metal.

"What is she using this stuff for?" Hermione asked, her lips tugging into a small frown. "They work together to form a bigger picture, I'm sure of it; maybe we should just pocket it all to give to Harry, just in case he doesn't—"

Just then, the Sneakascope seemed to jolt to life; it started to turn furiously on spot and began to screech a very loud, irritating sort of alarm. The very same alert signal that sounded whenever someone untrustworthy was nearby.

Draco froze, growing stiff from head-to-toe. He suddenly felt very aware of his surroundings; between the Sneakoscope and the other materials laid out before them, he was suddenly conscious of the fact that he felt—no, he _knew_—that he and Granger were being watched.

It was only when he felt the blunt tip of a wand pressed against his back—directly between his shoulder blades—that Draco allowed himself to acknowledge that the worst had happened. He'd been trapped. They _both_ had.

"Hello, Draco," came the low hiss of Bellatrix Lestrange. He could feel her hot breath spill against the back of his neck, and Draco's hands twitched at his sides. He glanced down at his wand, struggling to think of a defense spell, and just as he was prepared to turn around and (hopefully) catch her off-guard, he heard a very high-pitched, familiar screech a few feet off. His silver eyes snapped over to Hermione, who was writhing against the restraint of a cloaked figure whose face was hidden in the darkness. The figure had one arm wrapped around her neck and a wand pressed against her temple.

_Let her go!_

It took him a few seconds to realize that he had merely thought the demand and hadn't spoken it. For some reason, Draco couldn't speak; it was as though his tongue had been stolen and the air knocked out of him. He was speechless; completely and utterly speechless.

"Been keeping company with Mudbloods, I see," Bellatrix continued, a sickeningly teasing lilt to her tone. A strand of her curly hair brushed against his shoulder and Draco just barely suppressed the urge to shudder. Any moment now; he could turn around and fight her off. Could he fight the other Death Eater off, too? There was a loud clatter as Hermione's wand slipped from her grip and went cascading to the ground—Draco wanted to Accio it, but he knew that the slightest movement would give way to his intentions and Bellatrix would be sure to stun him on the spot. Or worse.

But he had to do _something_; he couldn't just stand there while Granger writhed and screamed to be released.

"Let me go! _Now_!" She continued over and over again, though her voice grew meeker with each utterance.

"Shut it, Mudblood," The hooded figure growled; he had a very garbled sort of voice, and Hermione choked and gasped as the arm around her throat tightened, temporarily blocking her airway. Draco made to move towards her, but Bellatrix's bone-thin fingers encircled around his arm. He could have shrugged off her grip easily, of course, but the wand pressed against the middle of his back was what had him freezing.

"Not so fast, Draco," She continued, her nails digging into his arm. "First we need to have a little bit of a chat."

That was it, then—all the color drained from his face, and Draco realized it was now or never; fight or die, essentially. Bellatrix would torture both of them mercilessly until they caved in to her demands. She'd make them tell her where the other two pieces of the Deathly Hallows were located; she'd force them to give up everything they had. And then, if she was in good enough spirits, she'd simply dispose of them.

Bellatrix had never been a particularly cheerful sort of Witch, so the possibility of escaping alive or only moderately scathed was very slim.

He saw the slightest shift out of the corner of his eyes, and he realized that Hermione was inching one of her hands up towards her stomach. Her hand slipped inside the pocket of her coat, and instantly Draco knew what she was attempting to do—signal the Order. Even in the midst of a panic, Granger had managed to keep her head screwed on right.

And it was about time Draco did something to help keep them alive, too.

Gathering up as much courage as he could manage, Draco spun around and lifted his wand. His chest was aching and his hand was shaking, but as Bellatrix's beady eyes met his, all Draco could think of was keeping himself and Granger safe. Safe and alive. With a scratchy throat and a shaky resolve, Draco centered his wand on his aunt's chest, forcing himself to sputter out the first spell he could think of.

"_Stu_—"

But it was too late. Just then, a low, hoarse, vaguely familiar third voice broke through the air. It belonged to a man, that much Draco could tell, and he spoke two words that were effective immediately.

"_Everte Statum_!"

Draco felt his body lurch backwards. He gave a grunt, heard Granger call out for him, and then his body slammed against the wall with enough force to shake the building's very foundation. There were bright spots blurring his vision, blinding him. Draco struggled to put himself up into a sitting position, but it was as though he had no control over his limbs. Where were his legs? His arms? Why couldn't he see? What smelled so strongly of rust? His head was swimming as he grew weaker and weaker; he was only loosely aware that there were people around him. And then he heard it.

A loud shriek of pain…and then nothing. The world faded to black.

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><p><strong>aN:** Hello everyone! I had meant to write this chapter a lot sooner, but my laptop ended up messing up and I didn't have one for pretty much all of August! And then school started up again, so I've been busy with that along with some other personal things. But I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, because I've been waiting a while for it! I was pretty excited about finally getting to write it, and I hope you guys are satisfied! Hope you're all doing well-don't forget to review and let me know what you thought!


	20. Hermione's Resolve

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Nineteen:** Hermione's Resolve

"_Mudblood, and proud of it!"_

_- Hermione Granger_

* * *

><p>She was floating on a cloud. She felt…weightless; like all of her troubles had simply evaporated. The sky was clear and shimmering with a thousand different colors, and for the first time in what seemed like years, Hermione felt peace. Up here, the ridiculous problems she'd spent so long fretting over seemed <em>juvenile<em>. She glanced down at her arm and ran her fingers over the smooth skin; there was no scar there. No jagged letters that spelled out the word "Mudblood". There was just clear, soft flesh…exactly the way it was supposed to be. The way it _had_ been. Everything was…perfect. Hermione was floating on a cloud and there was no one else in sight. Nevertheless, at the back of her mind rested a nagging thought—she was forgetting something. But what? Her lips tugged into a discontented pout and she glanced around, struggling to find something (anything) that would call forth whatever it was she'd forgotten about. But there was nothing—nothing but clouds, serenity, and a clear sky.

And then came the thunder.

At once, the sky darkened around her. Bright flashes of lightning struck the blackening sky, followed by deafening rounds of thunder that shook Hermione to her core. Instantly, Hermione felt a shooting pain through her temple. She cried in pain, clutching her head with both hands; her fingernails dug into her scalp and she shuddered, trying to block out the pain. But with each boom, boom, boom of the thunder, the pain intensified. Salty tears flooded her eyes and she collapsed on top of her cloud. Rain was pelting down around her from all sides, and slowly, slowly, her cloud began to dissolve.

She was falling, falling, falling…into an abyss she couldn't quite make out. The throbbing pain in her head magnified with each second that passed; it was so strong now that she felt pain—white hot and blinding—strike against the back of her head. She was certain she was going to crack—to break under the intensity of the pain. And when at last she was swallowed up by the darkness, two words tore themselves from her throat.

"Help us."

_Us? Help __**us**__?_ Confusion clouded Hermione's mind, and she opened her bleary eyes slowly. The world around her was swimming; shapes contorted and twisted to blur together, and Hermione let out a soft groan as she struggled to focus in on her surroundings. The first thing she was consciously aware of was the floor; it was cool against her cheek. She was on her side, and even the slightest shift of her limbs caused a ripple of pain to spread from the base of her spine to the very tips of her fingers. She let out a low, hoarse moan, her cheek scraping against the wooden floor beneath her. The room was dark; Hermione could barely make out anything five feet in front of her. As her eyes began to adjust to the dimness of her surroundings, the former Gryffindor noticed that she was shut away in a shoebox of a room. Try as she might to recollect how she'd gotten there, nothing came to mind.

What _was_ the last thing she remembered?

Her mind was still incredibly foggy, and as her eyebrows creased together and a look of concentration set itself on her fair features, she tried to relay her final moments of consciousness. It was like a mist had settled itself over her mind, and the harder she tried to focus on the past, the more prominent the ache in her head grew. She slid one of her hands up to rest on the back of her head, gingerly rubbing a sore spot; she could feel a bump at the base of her skull and winced, allowing her fingers to dust across the swollen bruise.

And then, slowly, it began to all come back to her.

She'd been creeping inside an abandoned, haunted house—the Shrieking Shack. She could recall her reasons for venturing there; she'd gone to try and find Bellatrix, who was rumored to be hiding out in the rickety old shack, and had run into a bit of an obstacle along the way. She vaguely remembered a table littered with various objects in the corner of the room—there was…there was a map of sorts, and some object that buzzed to life and screeched at an ungodly pitch, and…something else. Something sharp and shining; something that Hermione felt herself inwardly wincing at the thought of. She remembered a cool voice bringing her out of her thoughts, and an arm winding itself around her throat. She could recall the way her hooded captor had blocked off her airway. Instantly, the hand that was caressing the back of her head slid around to her throat. The skin felt tender, and Hermione swore that if she glanced into the mirror, she'd see a long bruise blossoming across the column of her neck.

But what had happened next? _What had happened?_

There was a bit of a struggle; a third person had intervened and Hermione shrieked to be released. She could just barely remember attempting to kick her captor in the shins during it all…and failing miserably. There was someone else there, though…someone who had come along to try and help her. As her fingers trailed down to brush against her collarbone, all at once it hit her like a ton of bricks.

_Draco_. He'd been hit with a spell and rendered unconscious. And suddenly, with clarity, the rest of that night came flooding back. Hermione felt her heart thudding painfully against her rib cage as she remembered the few, painstakingly long seconds that had followed—she had struggled to break free of the strong arms that held her captive, and when she refused to cooperate, she'd been stunned unconscious.

The last thing she saw was Draco's body, crumpled and broken over in the corner. After that, the world around her had ceased to exist.

And now here she was, shut up in a dark room that was hardly larger than a closet; it smelled of mold and decay, and Hermione's nose scrunched up as the stench mingled unpleasantly with the aroma of dried blood that was caked in her hair. She'd obviously had a bit of a struggle when she fell…who _knew_ how long she'd been locked up in this room for. A day? Two days? A week? She didn't feel painfully hungry or parched, so she was willing to bet that it hadn't been too long since she'd been stuffed away in here. The problem now was trying to figure out _where_ she was.

With the full intention of doing a bit of investigating, Hermione placed her hands against the rotting wooden floor, slowly heaving herself up into a sitting position. Her muscles ached and groaned, and a shooting pain bloomed at the very base of her spine. She bit down on her bottom lip roughly to keep from crying out, grunting and contorting her face into a pained expression as she forced herself to sit up. By the time she'd finally managed it, she was a bit of a panting mess; she supposed that whomever had been responsible for carting her body here hadn't been at all gentle with her. Not that she'd expected any sort of special treatment anyways—they were Death Eaters and she was a Mudblood.

Though she'd long since chosen to reject the term, today she embraced it. She was repulsed by its meaning and the sea of prejudice that it created between bodies of the Wizarding World, but she would no longer hide from the term to conceal her shame and embarrassment.

She was Hermione Granger the Mudblood, and that title meant _nothing_ to her. She was Hermione the Brave, Hermione the Logical, Hermione the Kind. She thought things through with an extraneous amount of detail and perseverance—she liked to think she had proved herself not only as a capable Witch, but as an important warrior and member of the Order.

She was so much more than the filthy little Mudblood, and she would live by that one truth for the rest of her life.

More determined than ever to escape this blasted room and locate Malfoy (Merlin—where _was_ he? Was he alright?), Hermione took a moment to think about where she is. There were only so many places that Bellatrix could take her—she and her band of Death Eaters and followers were wanted by the entire Order (and the Ministry of Magic itself as well, come to think of it). They wouldn't want to take her some place where she could be easily spotted. So…so Hermione was willing to believe that she was more than likely stationed in a safe house of sorts. One Bellatrix hadn't been caught at or knowingly suspected of before. She might have been manic and a bit impulsive, but Hermione knew Bellatrix wasn't _that_ thick; surely she would have stayed away from any location that would be immediately tied to her.

Unless…unless she _wanted_ to get caught. Was it possible that Bellatrix would take her captives to a rather ostentatious setting in hopes of luring Harry and the others to her? Was she really devious enough to set up that kind of trap? Hermione nibbled on the inside of her cheek, huffing as she thought again and again about the possible motives behind Bellatrix Lestrange. She couldn't say she knew enough about the psyche of Voldemort's former second-in-command to delve into any absolutes, and that frustrated Hermione to no end. There was only so much she could figure out on her own, so Hermione sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair. Her hand flickered down to her pockets, and that's when she remembered.

She didn't have her wand. Or _any_ weapon, for that matter.

Inwardly cursing herself for taking so long to remember the obvious, Hermione resigned herself to searching for something—_anything_—that she could defend herself with. It was pertinent to arm herself, lest she be intruded on by someone who came to collect her with the intent of harming her. The minute that someone entered the room and came to collect her (for Merlin only knew what), Hermione would…she would strike. Perhaps not immediately, but she'd gather up the courage to fight back. If she could only find something to defend herself with…

Against a Wizard or Witch who would, more than likely, be armed with a wand. Fantastic.

Determined, Hermione leaned forward and positioned herself on her hands and knees; the angling was a bit uncomfortable, given how sore she was, but there was only so much she could do with her eyesight virtually impaired, given the lack of lighting present. Grunting, Hermione began to crawl across the floor, feeling her way around. Maybe she could find a way to pull herself up against a wall—maybe there would be something hanging up that she could use…like the screw in the back of a picture frame or something from a display. She was a bit hopeless, truth be told; if she'd been shoved away in this room, then in all likelihood…it was bare. She doubted anyone would want to stick her in a room with a bloody knife display or anything of the sort.

The thought was dismal and dampened her hopes, but Hermione continued to search nonetheless.

Finally, when she was fully prepared to give up and slump against the ground, she felt something. It was a loose floorboard; it creaked and waned underneath the weight of her hand, and Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Gingerly, she felt for the edge of the floorboard; it was rough in her hands, and she soon found exactly what she was looking for—two loose nails from where the wooden board had broken away from the ground. Pressing her tongue between her teeth, Hermione began to tug and yank at the first nail. Her fingers became raw and it took quite a bit more effort than she would have expected, but with a final tug she was able to yank it out. Exhaling in a rush and wiping at her brow, Hermione slipped the nail in her pocket. There was one more left to go, and this was more difficult to remove than the first. When she'd finally managed to dislodge both loose nails from the wood, she kept one in her pocket and enclosed the other in the palm of her hand. And then, quickly as she could, she fumbled with the loose floorboard and laid it back in its place. The next time someone came in, then…if they posed any sort of threat to her, then she would strike.

It would be a long shot, to be sure—she'd be going against an armed Witch or Wizard with nothing more than a couple of crooked nails. The odds were slim, but they were all she had.

Just then, she heard something outside her room. Gasping quietly, Hermione glanced over towards the doorway; the door was sealed shut so tightly so that not so much as a sliver of light passed through, but Hermione could still hear—there was a heavy set of feet clomping their way down the corridor towards her, and Hermione's heart was in her throat. Panicking, she quickly decided to ease herself back down into the position she'd been left in—if someone came in to yank her out and pull her away for questioning or…or torture or whatever it was that Bellatrix had planned for her, Hermione would attack them completely by surprise. So it was with her mind set firmly that she lowered herself down onto the hard floor once more, biting back the urge to groan as she shifted and draped her body across the wooden floor. Her hand flexed around the nail she kept clutched tightly in one palm, and she struggled to calm and even her breathing pattern.

It proved to be nearly impossible.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door. They stalled—only momentarily—before the owner twisted the doorknob and threw it open. Instantly, Hermione resisted the impulse to wince; a bright shaft of fluorescent light fell across her closed eyes, lighting up the room and burning the back of her eyelids. She supposed she'd been denied any proper light for so long that even the smallest amount was enough to harm her. Still, she kept her eyes shut; desperate as she was to find out who was in the room, she wouldn't acknowledge anyone's presence until absolutely necessary.

"Wake up, Mudblood," came a low growl. A heavy boot made contact with her thigh harshly and Hermione bit back tears, blinking her eyes open slowly and feigning a groggy state of being. The pain in her thigh was _throbbing_, and as much as she wanted to clutch her leg and wince in pain, she refused; she wouldn't let whomever had come to collect her receive the satisfaction of knowing they'd successfully harmed her. Her eyes scanned up the long legs before her and met the…ghastly, beast-like face of Fenrir Greyback.

For as brave as Hermione told herself she could be, the sight of the werewolf was almost enough to have her shuddering. Suddenly, the nail in her hand seemed laughable; using it against a werewolf? Against _Fenrir_? He'd crush her; he could snap Hermione in half like a bloody twig.

Still, Hermione said nothing. She sorely doubted that Greyback had _actually_ been expecting her to respond to him.

"I'm here to tell you that _Mrs. Lestrange_ will be seeing you shortly," He grunted, enunciating his master's name with a particularly vicious undertone. Hermione idly wondered if Fenrir resented answering to Bellatrix and decided to stow the question away for a later date. What was important was seeing Bellatrix—Hermione could only _imagine_ how that meeting would go, and she subtly flexed her clammy fingers around the cool nail in her hand. However, given the way that Greyback was speaking, Hermione believed she still had some time—perhaps a few hours or so. That…might be enough time for her to think of an escape plan, then; something more solid than clutching a rusty old nail in her hand and preparing to strike whoever got in her way first. In hindsight, it seemed a rather loose plan with quite a few holes in it. But she was working with what she'd found in the small window of time she'd been afforded. A few more hours might mean a great deal to her.

Then again, it might mean nothing.

"Make sure you're prepared, Mudblood—Bellatrix likes them alert," Fenrir continued, barking out the order to her. Hermione focused her eyes on the wall, pointedly ignoring him. She heard his labored breathing for a few more minutes, and finally…he turned around and began to stomp out of the room. Fully prepared to hear the slam of the door and for her to be enveloped in darkness once more, she was inwardly startled when Fenrir turned around, hovering in the doorway. Much to her dismay, her eyes traveled to find his face, and the toothy grin that greeted her was enough to have Hermione's stomach lurching.

"Don't worry about your little Pureblood friend," Fenrir teased, his yellow teeth twinkling under the lights. "Bellatrix has very _special_ plans for her beloved Blood Traitor of a nephew."

And then, without so much as another word, Fenrir slammed the door shut, and Hermione was once again left in darkness…more unsettled than before.

Bellatrix might have had something special planned for her, but Hermione had a feeling it was nowhere _near_ as vengeful as what she had in store for Draco. For someone like Bellatrix Lestrange, blood was much thicker than water; it was thicker than anything.

And when someone tainted that blood, she lashed out. Hermione knew that Draco was next. And…and despite how much he'd hurt her, Hermione couldn't help but worry about him. Even more than she was worrying about herself.

That was it, then. She needed to escape…and she'd be sure to take Draco with her. She'd best Bellatrix Lestrange—even if it was the last thing she did.

Because she was Hermione Granger, and she did _not_ accept failure.

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><p><strong>aN**: Hey again everyone! I know this is a bit strange, uploading two chapters so close to each other, but I was really in a writing mood! Besides, this chapter is a lot of internal monologue concerning Hermione-I wouldn't say it's a "filler" chapter, exactly, but I suppose that's the closest term to describe it! I know it's significantly less aciton-y than the last chapter, but I hope you all like it nevertheless! Don't forget to review! Have a great day! :)


	21. Family Reunion

**_Shades of Grey_**

**Chapter Twenty:** Family Reunion

_"If a man's character is to be abused, say what you will, there's nobody like a relative to do the business."_

- _William Makepeace Thackery_

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><p>The world was pitch black; he couldn't see anything, and for the first hour or so after he'd woken from a state of unconsciousness, Draco had been terrified he'd gone blind. Seemingly lost, alone, and deserted in a sea of darkness, Draco had struggled to find a method of escape. Slowly but surely, the blond raised himself into a sitting position. The ground beneath him was cold, hard, and damp; he was almost certain he was stretched on top of a concrete floor, though due to his rather restricted line of vision, he couldn't be for certain. And as he struggled to pull himself into a state of alertness, Draco tried his damnedest to remember what the hell had happened. The last memory he could recall to mind was…was the Shrieking Shack. He'd been there, and so had Granger, and together they had—wait. Granger.<p>

_Where was Granger?_

All at once, Draco was thrown into a state of panic. He had no idea where the hell his partner was—if she was alive, if she was trapped like he was. Foolishly, Draco's first thought was to call out for her; could it be possible that she was trapped close by? He doubted his captors would be dense enough to place them both in the same quarters, and yet that didn't stop Draco from croaking out—

"Granger? Granger!"

But it was of no use. She didn't answer.

"Granger…" The utterance was softer now; the quiet, desperate plea of a man who was certain he'd lost one of the only things that mattered to him.

For the first time in months, Draco Malfoy felt the crushing weight of loneliness. And it was like he was sixteen all over again; facing death and destruction firsthand once more.

He tried to move, but soon found that he was shackled to the wall. As an impulse reaction, Draco frantically scrambled for his wand—when he realized it had, predictably, been taken from his person, he slumped against the wall and grunted. The metal shackles were thick and cold, and with each yank and tug of his wrists, Draco could feel his flesh bruising and chaffing away.

Confused, dazed, and quite lost, the young Wizard then spent an excruciating amount of time wondering where he was, where _Granger_ was, and how their capture fit into the whole scheme of his aunt's plans. And who was she working alongside with? Who was _her_ second-in-command? Draco sincerely doubted someone like Greyback was eligible to serve as her right hand man, but then…who else could she have possibly chosen? To his knowledge, Bellatrix hadn't been exactly…close with many (if any) people in the time he'd known her. She'd spent a great deal of his life tucked away in Azkaban, and in the years she spent free from the clutches of prison, her only true aim was to follow the Dark Lord. With him dead and many of her colleagues imprisoned or deceased, Bellatrix was—for all intents and purposes—alone.

And Draco couldn't begin to fathom who would possibly be foolish enough to follow in her stead.

It was a thought that plagued him the last hour or so he sat awake. Unable to do little more than focus on slowly but surely regaining his strength and sense of awareness, Draco spent a great deal of time struggling to think of a way to escape. With no wand, limited sight, and chains that kept him bound to his prison, Draco was—regrettably—stuck. And he had no idea how long he was going to be here for; a day, a week, a year. Forever.

Reality hit him like a ton of bricks. He was going to die down here, wasn't he? He was going to be left to rot, with nothing but his metal shackles and bruises to remind him that he was a prisoner of war. And, if Bellatrix so chose, he would die here.

It was a thought that both feared him and made him more determined than ever—to escape, to find Granger, to defeat his aunt's army.

He had to get out of here. He _had_ to.

The desperation started to set in; the gnawing, numbing sense of urgency that came with his desire to break free of his current state of purgatory—it was enough to drive a man mad. It was enough to destroy what little resolve Draco had left.

And slowly, as time passed and hours trudged by, Draco felt his eyes begin to droop shut once more. The world around him grew hazy…and then completely silent.

He woke up to a swift kick in the ribs—an action that caused the young man to double over in pain, groaning and clutching at his torso with trembling, dirt-caked hands. Forcing his bleary, heavy eyes to pry open, Draco glanced up at the bulky, shadowy figure of what he could only assume was one of his captors. Not Bellatrix, of course—his assailant was far too muscular to pass for her. Peering through the darkness in an attempt to pick out who it could possibly be was more than a little foolish, so Draco merely eyed the shadow of his attacker warily…and then he was being hauled to his feet, and all at once he was aware of the fact that he was no longer shackled to the wall.

But rather…being dragged out of his prison.

"Let—go—of—me! Now!" Draco grunted, yanking and tugging at the large hand that had fisted itself in the back of his shirt. But it was useless—whomever had been sent to collect Draco was far larger than the lithe Slytherin could ever hope to be, and soon he found that he was being pulled to his feet and shoved forward. Unused to being handled so roughly, Draco nearly stumbled over his feet, finding that his legs were rather unstable after having gone so long without standing.

…How long _had_ it been, exactly? The thought terrified him more than he cared to admit.

Unfortunately, though, Draco wasn't given very much time to fret and wonder how long he'd been locked up for—no sooner had he been hoisted to his feet than he felt the cool tip of a wand press against his back, and all at once Draco went completely stiff. Was this how he was meant to die, then? At the hands of someone else? Someone he couldn't even identify? Standing straight and jutting his chin forward, Draco focused on evening his breathing pattern and reminding himself not to panic.

Easier said than done, of course.

"Move," came the low and guttural growl of his captor, who promptly poked the small of his back with the tip of his wand, gesturing for Draco to move forward…and so he did. He shuffled, one foot in front of the other, until he reached the bottom of what could only be a staircase. He hesitated, uncertain of whether or not he was meant to climb, but then the vaguely-familiar voice grunted once again, and Draco nearly tripped over himself in his attempt to climb the steep, creaking stairs before him. He held his hands out in front of him, feeling his way up the stairs and struggling to find solid walls around him…until the voice barked out for him to stop, and Draco was begrudgingly forced to bring his arms to his sides once more.

How the hell had they even _seen_ Draco's arms through this impenetrable darkness? How had they _known_?

By the time they reached the top of the stairwell, Draco was uncertain of what to do next—stand there? Wait for further instruction? The wand digging into his back was rather uncomfortable at this point, and so it was with a bit of deliberation that Draco pushed open the door, lifting his hands to shield his face as a shaft of sunlight from a nearby window nearly blinded him. He was given little time to adjust to the drastic changes in his surroundings before the wand pressed against his back pushed him forward, urging the Malfoy heir onwards. He stumbled blindly through a narrow corridor, blinking rapidly and feeling his eyes sting and tear with irritation; the air was too fresh, the light too bright. It took a few minutes for his vision to adjust, but…once he could make out his surroundings, the first thought that struck him was that he'd seen this corridor before—the painting on the walls, the portraits hanging up and down the long, narrow corridor. He'd seen this exact wood furnishing as well as the dark green drapes that hung off the nearest window. He'd only ever seen it in picture albums and paintings, of course, but he'd seen it quite frequently during his childhood nevertheless.

It was Bellatrix's house—the one she had moved into as a young bride.

So did that mean…?

"In here," came the gruff grunt of the person pushing and prodding him down the hall. Draco lost his train in thought in favor of stepping forward, and he was suddenly thrust inside a large, elegant parlor. And there, in the corner, with a wand in one hand and a blade in the other, was Bellatrix Lestrange.

And Draco was _horrified_.

Immediately, he foolishly tried to break free; to run loose and (possibly) find an exit. Quickly, though, he was caught—strong arms wound around his torso and tugged him over to a chair that had been placed in the middle of the room. Trying in vain to break away and kicking all the while, Draco was placed in the rickety wooden chair—he supposed it looked very much like a toddler being punished for misbehaving. And then, quick as lightning, the same deep, gruff voice that had spoken to him for the past ten or so minutes began to _laugh_. And Bellatrix spat out a quick "_Incarcerous_", magically binding Draco to the chair with thick, tight rope. It was as Draco was squirming and grunting—visibly struggling to break free of the ropes that bound him—that the tall, bulky figure came into view.

It was Fenrir Greyback. _He should have known_.

"_You_," Draco spat, trembling with rage as he glared up at Greyback. The werewolf, clearly pleased with this reaction, gave Draco a ghastly, toothy grin—one that practically had the young blond quivering in fear.

"_Me_," He replied in a voice that was far too pleased for Draco's liking.

"Alright, Greyback," Bellatrix began, moving forward at once and giving her lackey a quick nod. "I've got it from here." There was something…almost giddy about her tone. Something that suggested Bellatrix was about to engage in a bit of playtime.

Draco _had_ always been warned that Bellatrix preferred to play with her toys before breaking them. And…he supposed he was next. Nephew or not, he was still a Blood Traitor to her. In the scheme of things, Draco knew quite well that family meant very little to Bellatrix if she found them unworthy. His deranged aunt might have held a high opinion of Narcissa, but it was clear that Draco was little more than the dirt under her fingers.

He was _trash_ to her—incapable of the pure lineage he'd been born into. And Draco knew that, to her, having someone so traitorous closely connected to her simply _wouldn't_ do.

"Leave us, Greyback," Bellatrix ordered, twirling the handle of her most precious blade in one hand. "My nephew and I are going to have a bit of a chat."

Fenrir might have been ferocious and intimidating, but even _he_ knew when he was no longer needed or welcome, for he soon dipped out of the room with little more than a chuckle to indicate his departure. And that meant…that meant that Draco was left alone.

With his bloody thirsty aunt, her most prized knife, and the wand in her possession that had once tortured and murdered so many. Still did, more than likely. There was an evilness about her; something dark and sinister. Something that unsettled Draco Malfoy in ways he couldn't even begin to explain. Bellatrix had been in prison for a large majority of his life, so his contact with her had been brief, at best…until she'd escaped from Azkaban. She had never exactly been capable of many heart-warming emotions (none, come to think of it), so Draco had just barely—and bitterly, at that—regarded her as a blood relation.

Luckily, his father seemed to abhor the woman nearly as much as Draco did. Fat lot of good that did him right now, though; his parents had probably hidden themselves away in France or Sweden the moment they heard about Bellatrix's return. Narcissa might have held a lingering soft spot for her elder sister, but that didn't mean she was willing to sacrifice the lives of her husband and son by being closely-acquainted with the madwoman. She knew what Draco had given up by being indicted into the Order; they all knew.

Bellatrix included.

"Well, well, Draco," Bellatrix began, the heels of her well-worn boots clacking against the dusty hardwood floor beneath them. She stepped forward and instinctively, Draco flinched. "I must say, I'm not terribly surprised we find ourselves in such a position—not surprised, but disappointed, nevertheless." She clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth, a sound that caused Draco to gnash his teeth together in blatant discomfort.

"Tell me, Draco," She continued, swinging the handle of her precious blade in one bony hand. "What is it that finally made you turn against the Dark Lord? What caused you to shift your…softened ideals?" And then she was on him, leaning forward and exhaling against his cheek. Her breath was warm and pungent, and Draco just barely refrained himself from crinkling his nose in disgust. He stilled the moment she lifted the freshly-sharpened edge of her weapon to rest against his throat, dragging the metal tip of the blade across the plane of his neck; almost as though she was attempting to trace a pattern of sorts into his very skin.

Either that or she was attempting to figure out which would be the most efficient way to cut him up.

"_Answer me_!" She pressed, pausing applying pressure into his skin. Draco watched, horrified when he felt a sharp sting at the base of his throat. He struggled not to breathe; not to swallow or blink or do anything that would defy her. He wondered what it would be like, having his neck slit—he wondered if she would commit the act quick and roughly, or if she would cut him just enough so that he bled out at an excruciatingly slow rate. The thought taunted Draco; it caused an ache to bloom at the hollow of his throat, and he found himself squirming uncomfortably against the ropes bound around him.

He realized he had yet to answer his aunt's inquiry, and as she glared at him with those dark and beady eyes of hers, Draco quickly struggled to think of a convincing solution to his current…dilemma. Lying. Could he lie to Bellatrix? She'd taught him all about Legilmency and Occlumency, of course, so the concept of managing to ward himself against any mind-intrusive techniques she planned to use against him were slim to none, but…but he could still try, surely. He was, after all, a Slytherin—then again…so was she.

"I've always been a servant of the Dark Lord," He found himself hissing; the words were so hushed that even _he_ could barely hear them. Licking his lips and steeling what little confidence he had left, Draco cleared his throat and spoke again. Louder this time. "It's a trap, you know—setting the Order up. Making them believe I was one of them…and all for the sake of protecting the Dark Lord's ideals. His system of blood purification."

For just a moment, understanding dawned on Bellatrix's features. He'd managed it, then! He'd convinced his lunatic aunt that he was working as an independent double agent all along!

And that's when Bellatrix lifted her blade and sliced open his left cheek.

The pain, while not the worst he'd ever endured, was sharp and stinging. He permitted himself a muffled cry of agony, wincing as he felt the blade tear across his supple flesh, splitting his skin open with little more difficulty than cutting into softened butter. He had no idea how drastic the cut was; he was just aware of the warm stream of blood that trickled down the side of his face…down his neck and splattering onto the collar of his shirt. And then, when Bellatrix spoke, he found himself flinching away from her in response.

"_Lying_ to me," She spat, rage controlling and warping her already unstable emotions. "You're _weak_, Draco, just like your father. He too ran and hid the first time the Dark Lord fell…the resemblance between Lucius and you are uncanny, really. You're both _cowards_."

Under ordinary circumstances, being compared to his father and having his family name made into a mockery would have been a grave insult; Draco wouldn't have been able to keep his mouth shut. As it was, he'd already endured one (relatively) small injury for lying…who _knew_ what sort of trouble he'd get himself into if he talked back to her. Getting tangled up with Bellatrix Lestrange was dangerous; she was a reckless force of nature, and at any moment she could snap and turn against anyone and everyone she knew. He'd seen it happen before; he'd seen her topple over the edge and lose the small shred of humanity she had lurking within her. It was…devastating; it was terrifying.

It was everything Draco knew he'd be forced to endure again if he kept up with his deceitful pretenses.

"Filthy Blood Traitor," She continued, her lips practically quivering with fury. The insult, though expected, stung. It was the first time he'd ever…been addressed as one before; at least out loud.

Strange, really, how Draco Malfoy could still manage to feel injuries inflicted on his pride when he was already in such a compromising situation to begin with.

"I'm _not_ a Blood Traitor," He hissed through clenched teeth, and for a long moment, he truly believed himself. The rest of the world melted away, and he saw himself for what he was—a young man who had been forced to make a decision in order to right the wrongs he'd committed so young. He saw a man who would do anything for the sake of his family; a man who had thrown himself in the thick of things at a time when maturity and understanding were still so far out of reach. He saw himself for what he was…a terrified Wizard simply struggling to get by.

But then he remembered Granger, and everything came tumbling down.

"The Mudblood—what of her, then?" Bellatrix questioned. It was a tease; something meant to taunt and provoke him. Draco was perfectly aware of that. She knew who Granger was; she was aware of the role the young Witch played in Potter's rebellion.

"She's nothing," He answered, his throat thick. His tongue sat rather heavy and awkward in his mouth—the words had been difficult to force out. He didn't want to think about why that was; not just yet.

"She's _filth_, and so are _you_ for associating with her," Bellatrix answered with an air of finality, shoving away from Draco in favor of standing. He saw the glimmer of blood that coated the tip of her knife and shuddered—_his_ blood. All too familiar with Bellatrix's tactics to assume she was merely done with him for the evening, Draco's body grew stiff as he struggled to prepare himself for whatever it was she planned on throwing at him next.

He really shouldn't have been all that surprised when she chose to lift her wand and point it straight at his chest.

"Now tell me, Draco, where are the others?" Spoken more like an order rather than an inquiry, Bellatrix walked slowly and deliberately around the chair Draco was bound to. He chose to focus on the click-clack sound her shoes made against the hardwood, but found that nothing could distract him from the gnawing discomfort and growing sense of anxiety that accompanied her presence. She made him unbearably uncomfortable—and that was putting it lightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," was his response. Firm. Cold. Without a trace of reason or regret. Completely wrong, too, for no sooner had he managed to spit the words out than Bellatrix was lifting her wand and screaming out the first curse she could think of—_Crucio_.

And it sliced into Draco like a thousand knives.

The pain was amplified; it shook him to his very core. Truly, he was shocked that Bellatrix had chosen such a harsh method of torture so early on…however, his shock did nothing to dull the agony that shot through his system. It consumed him; it defined him. It felt as though someone had taken a knife and cut away bits and pieces of his skin; as though hot wax was being poured on him. The pain was so fierce that, at one point, Draco had deluded himself into thinking that he could feel his bones crushing and grinding themselves into dust. It was unlike any known pain in the world…and with each and every moment that passed, Draco found himself growing weaker and weaker.

It wouldn't be too terribly long before he passed out—he was sure of it.

Bellatrix paused her magic just long enough to ask if he'd had a change of heart; if he was willing to provide her with the names and locations she so desperately needed from him. The pause was sweet; brief and exhilarating. However, when Draco yet again feigned ignorance and denied Bellatrix of any answers, the manic woman picked up directly where she left off.

And Draco, try as he might to tell himself otherwise, was unable to stop the Earth-shattering cries of pain that fled his lips and filled the room around him. It was inhumane, what his aunt was doing to him, and as he writhed and convulsed in mind-splitting agony, he felt the rickety chair attached to him topple over…and then Draco was on his side, shivering and twitching with unbridled anguish on the floor of her spacious manor. It had gone on for entirely too long, the torture session, and Draco was only faintly aware of Bellatrix lifting the curse long enough to converse with someone. There was a dull ringing in Draco's ears, and his heart was thumping far too loudly for him to make out any sort of intelligent conversation. Beaten near unconsciousness, Draco found himself unable to focus on anything around him. His cheek felt hot as it rested against the smooth wood of the floor beneath him, and he exhaled in short bursts of breath, struggling to regain what he had so easily lost.

He was broken and defeated, just as Bellatrix had wanted.

Much to his shame, tears blotted his dark grey eyes. They were the proof of his pain; of the agony still pulsating and coursing through his veins. He blinked back the bitter remnants of his torture, swallowing the ache that had bloomed in his chest and forcing his fingers to flex—it was vital for him to make sure that he still possessed basic motor skills. And it was there, lying on the floor of his aunt's long vacated mansion, that Draco was met with the figure of a man he'd never met. A man he'd heard plenty about since he was a young child, but had never spent time with. A man who he had only known through stories passed down to him and old photographs. A man who Draco had long since believed to be dead.

"Hello, Draco," came the low, smooth drawl of Rodolphus Lestrange.

And then the world fell away, and Draco was once again swallowed by darkness.

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><p><strong>aN:** Hey there everyone! First of all, I'd like to apologize for taking so long to upload this chapter; real life got in the way and I was so busy I could barely manage to sit down and write out a RP reply, much less complete an entire chapter! But here we are finally, up to a plot point I've been looking forward to writing since I first began _Shades of Grey_! There are only a few chapters left in this story, and I'm really eager to see how it's received by all of you! If you don't already know, a few weeks ago I uploaded the prologue for my upcoming multi-chapter fic, _Creatures of Hope_, so if you're interested then please, by all means go read and review! Thank you so much to everyone who's taken an interest in this story; you're the best! And as always, please leave your comments!


	22. Hermione's Struggle

**_Shades of Grey_**

**Chapter Twenty-One:** Hermione's Struggle

_"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will." _

_- Charlotte Bronte_

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><p>Meanwhile, in a dark and desolate room that held very little life, a young woman listened as her entire world crumbled around her.<p>

She knew it was Draco—knew it was him from the very moment she heard dull murmurs waft through the creaky floorboards beneath her. Hermione's broken and emaciated body ached and yearned for the young man struggling one floor below, and as Hermione attempted to fight her way into a sitting position, her fingers clawed at the rotting wood beneath her. Their muffled conversation only came to Hermione in waves, so at first she was only able to make out certain words, such as "Blood Traitor", "weak", and "father". The conversation was too choppy for Hermione to make any sense out of, but she still found herself hoping and praying that Bellatrix would go easy on Draco. He was, after all, her nephew.

Then again, she'd murdered her cousin and niece with no difficulty at all.

It was as this thought plagued her mind that Hermione heard the blood-curdling shriek. It tore directly through her system; it ate her up from the inside out. It was the anguished cry of someone who had completely lost touch with life—of someone who was just barely dangling on the edge of consciousness. The sound was raw and gruesome; it caused something in Hermione's chest to ache and burn, and at once she knew the sound would forever remain embedded into her memory. Because it was more than hearing someone being tortured—it was knowing that the victim was Draco. _Her_ Draco.

"No." The word was whispered; she croaked it out rather subconsciously, allowing her fingernails to dig into the floor beneath her. Her bones ached and her muscles trembled from the malnourishment she was suffering from, but that didn't stop Hermione from trying to force herself into a sitting position. And then came the cries, rising in volume and urgency in tandem with his own.

"No. _No_. **_NO_**!" Hermione screamed, though she sorely doubt she was heard over the inhumane cries of torture and agony drifting up from below. It pierced her heart, the way he cried out, and before Hermione could even control what she was doing, she was heaving her body towards the door, using the rusty doorknob to lift herself up. Somewhere, deep down, she knew it was useless to try and escape—if there had been a way for her to leave this room on her own, she would have busted out hours ago. As it was, fear and exhaustion had warped her common sense, and so Hermione beat on the door with trembling fists, weakened by a lack of food and water. She cried out until her throat was raw and hoarse, trembling against the doorframe and begging for the release she knew would never come.

"No! Don't! No, no, no! Take me! Take me instead!"

It was desperate, but it was all she had.

She pounded on that door until the world grew silent around her, and predictably, no one came. Not even to make her shut up, which convinced Hermione that her outburst had gone unheard. Not entirely sure whether that was for the best or not, she allowed herself to sink down onto the floor, sagging against the doorframe and crumpling in on herself. She permitted herself time to cry, folding in and tucking herself into a tight ball as the tears tore through her dainty frame. Her forehead rested against her knees, and she inhaled between choked gasps for air. Her nose was stuffed and her eyes stung as she cried, clutching desperately at the fabric of her trousers and praying to Godric that Draco was okay. That he was still alive.

_Please, Merlin, please_, she chanted to herself, shivering from head to toe. _Let him live._

* * *

><p>Half an hour passed. There was no sound from below; the house had grown eerily silent, and Hermione slowly but surely gathered the shattered remnants of her person. There would be hell to pay—she was sure of it.<p>

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes and Hermione finally had her resolve. She remembered the nail that was tucked securely in the pocket of her trousers. She knew that it was a feeble weapon, at best, but that if she could catch someone off guard, then she'd have the element of surprise on her side. It was a flimsy chance at escape, but it was all she had. And, very much in the spirit of Hermione Granger and all of her sensibilities, she spent quite some time coming up with the most efficient manner in which she planned to carry out her attack. She could simply crouch behind the door, on the alert and ready to attack whenever someone came to collect her—but soon enough she scratched that idea out. If someone entered the room and registered that she wasn't there, it would give them a bit of headway, and Hermione feared her attack wouldn't come across as such a surprise. Then she started thinking about waiting to attack until she'd hit the main floor of the Manor; that idea, too, was shot down. If she waited until they were out in the open with other Witches and Wizards lurking around, then it was probable she'd be caught and taken down within a matter of five to ten seconds.<p>

It was tedious, planning her escape, but finally Hermione came to a conclusion. It would be best, she decided, if she were to feign a state of unconsciousness until she was collected…then she could spring and attack anyone who dared try to confront her. So Hermione crawled to the center of the room and collapsed on the hard floor, allowing her eyes to flutter shut and focusing on playing the role of a convincing victim.

All she had to do now was wait. Wait and hope that someone would come by to check on her.

* * *

><p>It had been approximately an hour since the screams from downstairs had finally died away, and Hermione was growing rather impatient. Where was Bellatrix? Greyback? More importantly, where was <em>Draco<em>? Hermione was nearly trembling with the urge to find out; to tear apart this house and fight her way to her partner…to the Wizard who had grown to mean so much to her in the short time they'd been working together. In all her life, Hermione could only think of two men who came close to rivalling the love and need for protection she felt now for Draco, and that was Harry and Ron (though she loved them both in a way so drastically different than she thought of Draco). And it was this love—this need to protect the very man her heart yearned for—that motivated Hermione to keep on with her original plan; to try and take down whatever resistance she might meet along the way.

Because she had to get out of here; she _had_ to.

She wasn't aware—not exactly—just how long it had been since Draco's torture, but she heard the telltale stomping of a pair of feet inching closer and closer to her prison. Someone was on their way, then; someone was coming to…to what? To collect her? Kill her? Make sure she hadn't escaped? Hermione Granger was utterly clueless—a rarity for the young woman, to be sure—and yet she kept her fingers tightly coiled around her weapon all the while. The nail might have been small, but as the pad of her thumb brushed against its short point, she realized that it could make a proper weapon…again, _if_ she was given the element of surprise she so desperately required.

She was expecting Greyback, really; maybe even Bellatrix, depending on the manic woman's mood. However, when the door was thrust open and a tall man with light blond hair stepped inside, scowling all the while, Hermione recognized him for who he was: Thorfinn Rowle. She, Harry, and Ron had run into him and one of his goons months and months ago when they'd been searching for the Deathly Hallows; he'd appeared shortly after the fiasco at Bill and Fleur's wedding…she'd had to Obliviate him and his comrade both before easing out of the shop with both of the boys. She peered at him through her eyelashes, hoping that he couldn't tell that she was, in fact, very much awake. Every muscle in Hermione's body went stiff and rigid as he moved closer, one step after another, and allowed her fingers to squeeze lightly around the nail she held in her hand.

Any minute now, then. This was the moment of truth.

Hermione resisted the impulse to wince when he lifted his foot and kicked one of her thighs, biting on her tongue to keep from whimpering out in pain. Her legs were already weak from bruising and malnourishment; the pain felt amplified, almost.

Of course…it was nothing compared to the torture Draco had just endured. She wasn't even going to kid herself about _that_.

"Get up, Mudblood," He growled, clearly discontent with the fact that Hermione had failed to rise upon his presence.

_Scum_, she thought to herself. _Absolute scum._

When Hermione stayed put, Rowle let out an irritated grunt and crouched down, reaching over to grab her by the scruff of her neck. He shook her, yanking painfully on the back of her collar and more or less asphyxiating her in the process. Hermione bit back the instinct to choke and gasp in response, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"I said _get up_," He spat, and Hermione decided that now was as good a time as any to react. Her fingers flexed around the cool metal of the nail, and at once her eyes flew open. Shock registered on Rowle's filthy face, and while the element of surprise was still on her side, Hermione lunged forward and stabbed at the nearest hunk of flesh she could find…which just so happened to be Thorfinn Rowle's cheek. Hermione was aghast as she felt the nail puncture his skin with relative ease; she hadn't thought it was all that sharp, but she supposed the momentum in which she'd lunged at the Death Eater had a great deal to do with it. The filthy nail was now plunged into Rowle's cheek, the back half dangling off the side of his face. Blood had spurted out the moment the weapon made contact with his skin, and there was now a steady trail of scarlet winding down the side of his face.

Hermione had to struggle not to dry heave then and there. It was a _ghastly_ sight; it truly was.

And then came Rowle's screams, which was—perhaps—the most sickening aspect of it all. His lips twitched upon impact and his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. He was nearly convulsing with pain, clawing at the side of his face and struggling to get the nail out. He was having a bit of difficulty, which made Hermione assume that it was stuck.

_Good_, she thought to herself.

So wrapped up in the frightening sight before her, she nearly missed her window of opportunity. She might have been weak and frail from days of being locked up in a desolate, abandoned room, but she still had strength enough to pick herself up and dive for the door, which Rowle had conveniently left open. She scrambled for an exit, making her way through the brightly-lit hall and blinking back tears as she staggered through the house. The light was bright; far too bright…but she would manage. Freedom was close—so bloody close she could taste it—and Hermione practically bound down the steps two at a time, her head snapping back and forth as she searched for any reinforcement charging after her.

None came. She should have seen it as a stroke of good luck, but…she didn't. It only filled her with fear. Rowle's screams had been obscenely loud; surely someone would have heard his cries of despair and run for help immediately.

_Where is everyone?_ She thought to herself, terrified.

Soon enough, she received her answer. Hermione had miraculously made it down to the main floor of the estate she was holed up in when she felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her waist. She cried out in alarm, thrashing against the hands wrapped around her body. She struggled against whomever it was that had finally caught her, but it was of no use. She was weak, and they were easily two times stronger than her. On a good day. Nevertheless, Hermione kicked and thrashed as best she could; just because she'd been caught did _not_ mean she was going down without a fight. She was Hermione Granger, and she'd fight for freedom even if it killed her.

However, due to the combination of her captor's strength and her own weakness, fighting was useless. She was soon enough dragged to what she could only assume was a parlor before being deposited on the ground as though she were no more than a hefty bit of rubbish.

Then again, that's probably _exactly_ what she was to them.

Her bones were weak and frail, but still Hermione tried to heave herself into a sitting position. Maybe if she dashed out of the room quickly enough, no one would notice she was gone until it was too late…maybe…

Or maybe she had _completely_ lost her mind. Starvation and exhaustion could do that to a person.

Despite all of her planning, despite her resolution to escape now that she'd been tossed carelessly to the ground, deep in her heart she knew it wasn't going to happen. As if to prove her point, a dark shadow hovered over her, and Hermione bit back tears of pain and blinked away the haze clouding her mind, glancing up—with terror—at the frazzled figure of one Bellatrix Lestrange.

To say she looked irritated might as well have been the understatement of the entire bloody year.

"Think you could run away, did you, Mudblood?" Bellatrix spat, her voice raw as the manic elder woman channeled fury and rage into her words. Hermione glared at her in response, her chin set and her trembling fingers digging into the wooden floor beneath her. She said nothing; responding would only feed into Bellatrix's sick and twisted need for punishment. For revenge on Hermione for daring to live and breathe; Mudblood that she was and all.

"Do I need to give you another reminder of where you stand in this war, girlie?" Bellatrix asked, and then there was the glimmer of metal. Hermione froze instinctively—she would have recognized the blade in her hand anywhere. It was the same one she'd used to carve the word "Mudblood" into Hermione's flesh so many months ago. The scar on her arm seemed to burn, as though close contact with the weapon that had created it was enough to have her skin crawling.

Bellatrix seemed to sense Hermione's terror, for her lips cracked into a crooked, manic grin…and she _laughed_. The sound was shrill and deranged; it sparked fear into Hermione's heart.

"Ah, the Mudblood remembers," Bellatrix continued, an edge of childish glee to her voice. It was…disturbing, really, and when Hermione yet again kept quiet, Bellatrix yanked up the sleeve of Hermione's shirt, allowing the tip of her blade to glide across the word engraved into the younger woman's flesh. Hermione resisted the impulse to whimper and squeeze her eyes shut. She would not let her fear shut her down; she _refused_ to become Bellatrix's plaything for the second time in her life.

"Maybe I should reinforce the message bit, hmm, girlie?" She asked, though Hermione knew it wasn't a _real_ question. Not really. In the end, Bellatrix would do what she wanted.

Now _that_ was a thought to terrify Hermione to pieces.

It was as Bellatrix was pressing the sharpened point of the blade into the supple flesh of her forearm that she heard someone clear their throat. It came from the same direction Hermione had arrived from, which caused her to assume that her original captor was still lurking among them.

Fantastic.

"Bellatrix, need I remind you that the Mudblood still plays a crucial role in our plans?" It was a man who answered, though the voice was nearly foreign to Hermione. Nearly. She could have sworn she'd heard it once before, though couldn't quite place her finger on when or where that might have been. He was out of her line of vision, however, so it was quite difficult for Hermione to place a face with her attacker.

She glanced at Bellatrix. Make that _one_ of her attackers, then.

Bellatrix jutted her lower lip out in response to the man's statement; from Hermione's angle, it almost looked as though she was pouting. Bellatrix glanced over, her eyes following someone (or something) that Hermione couldn't quite see. There was something about the way Bellatrix studied her subject—with irritation and almost disdain—that intrigued Hermione. Bellatrix was the one running the show here, after all; why did she seem so put out by another person's opinion?

Unless…unless there was someone who was her equal. If not her equal, then her advisor at the very least. It made sense, the more and more Hermione thought on it. Bellatrix was a rash and bloodthirsty individual; composed of loyalty to her deceased Dark Lord and vengeance, it really didn't make much sense for her to have come this far entirely on her own. Hermione sincerely doubted she would have been able to plan such a well-crafted surprise attack; she didn't think Bellatrix would have waited so long to enact her revenge. No, no—the closer Hermione looked at the situation, the more positive she was that Bellatrix was being assisted.

_But by who?_

The answer came into view in the form of a tall, lanky man whom Hermione had never seen before. He had dark brown hair (nearly black) that reached just above his shoulders; he looked as though he hadn't been well groomed in quite some time, if the slickness of his hair and the stubble lining his face was anything to go by. He had beady eyes that seemed to bore into Hermione's very person, making her fidget uncomfortably from her perch on the floor. He appeared to be studying her, and while Hermione knew that this was the man whose voice she faintly recognized, she could say with absolute certainty that she'd never _seen_ him before.

So why did she get the suspicion that she knew him from somewhere? Why was his voice so familiar to her?

"What's your point? The girl deserves to be punished!" Bellatrix responded, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts. The man seemed to agree with this statement, yet there was a certain hesitation in the way he responded…as if he wasn't sure just _how_ to go about punishing their victim.

"I agree that the Mudblood deserves to be put in her place," The man began, and Hermione gnashed her teeth together in irritation. "All I'm suggesting is that we're practical with how we go about it. As long as we hold her and Draco as hostages, we hold the reins. _We're_ in charge. _We_ have the power."

Bellatrix's eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention of power, and Hermione wondered how one person could be so full of indecency and evil. There wasn't a shred of humanity left in Bellatrix Lestrange; Hermione was willing to bet every last Galleon in Gringotts that she was right.

But still, the blade rested against Hermione's arm; clearly, Bellatrix was still struggling to decide whether or not she would take the advice given to her or choose to ignore in favor of spilling all of Hermione's blood on the floor. The former Gryffindor swallowed noisily at the thought.

"Bellatrix…" The man pressed, and all at once, the reality of the situation slammed against Hermione like a load of bricks. She recognized his voice, yes, and now she knew where her remembrance came from. He was the same man she'd seen talking to Fenrir Greyback in Borgin and Burkes; back when she and Draco had used the Vanishing Cabinet to travel for clues. Her eyes widened and her lips parted immediately, and for the first time, Hermione really soaked in his presence.

She didn't know just who he was, exactly, but now that she had a vivid memory to place with his face, comprehension dawned on her features. This was no ordinary man, then—at the very least, he was Bellatrix's second-in-command. Perhaps even her equal, depending on how their relationship with one another worked.

The thought of Bellatrix working alongside someone else in a struggle for power and dominance did nothing to ease Hermione's already jumbled nerves. On the contrary, it made her more anxious than ever.

Bellatrix alone was bad enough, but having someone feed her ideas? _That_ was _disastrous_.

"I know you," She breathed, thinking no one would hear her. The man's eyes shot over in her direction, and he appraised Hermione for a few moments with a grotesque amount of scrutiny and disdain. The corners of his lips twitched, as though he was fighting the urge to smirk or smile, and Hermione found the sight horrifying. It reminded her of something out of one of those scary Muggle films her cousins had made her watch when she was a little girl.

"Not yet, Mudblood, but you will," was his response. Aloof. Secretive. And then he lifted his wand and aimed it at Hermione's head. She barely had time to register what he was doing before he mumbled out a stunning spell, and Hermione was out cold.

* * *

><p>It was the sound of metal scraping against concrete that finally woke her up. Her head felt stuffed full of cotton and her throat was dry and scratchy. She felt a dull ache ringing in her ears and rattling her head as she forced her bleary eyes to open, and at once Hermione recognized that she was surrounded in darkness. There was the faint smell of mold lingering nearby, and as her vision adjusted to the dim lighting she realized she'd been placed in another room. A <em>darker<em> room; one that seemed to stretch for endless miles. She was more or less blind in here (wherever "here" was), and shivered involuntarily. That's when she felt the dead weight on her arms.

Her wrists were bound with two thick metal shackles, and with each slight movement of her arms, the chains attached to them scraped against the cold floor beneath her. Clearly Bellatrix and the others hadn't felt comfortable placing her back into a room where she was free to roam on her own. So they'd done the next best thing; locked her in the dark like a bird in its cage. It was as she was contemplating how long she'd been here for that she felt something small and warm glide against the back of her hand. A strangled cry fled her lips and she jerked away, eyes wide as she struggled to search for something in the dark. It very well could have been nothing more than a rat, she thought (though that did not, by any means, comfort her in the slightest).

So when a squeaky, high-pitched voice answered with "Sorry, miss!" and lit a match, Hermione felt a surge of relief. So not a killer, a dead body, or even a rat, then, but rather…a House Elf. Wait.

A House Elf!

Large, bat-like ears were the first thing she saw, followed by the filthy rags traditionally worn by enslaved House Elves. Then she noticed the rather large nose as well as the eyes that took up half the Elf's face…at once, Hermione felt herself sag against the wall.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where I am?" Hermione managed, her voice dry and scratchy. It was difficult, but she managed to sound sincere as she spoke with the House Elf; she did not, in any way, wish for the creature to think she looked down on her with disdain. She was not the House Elf's superior, but rather her equal.

"Certainly, missus— this is the dungeon of Lestrange Estate, it is," The House Elf answered, sniffling as she held the match close to her face. Lestrange Estate, then…so she and Draco had been dragged all the way to Bellatrix's own manor for holding and questioning? That didn't seem quite right to Hermione; in fact, it seemed like a rather grand mistake. Wouldn't Bellatrix and the others have wanted to hide Draco and Hermione in an inconspicuous location? Somewhere where they didn't wish to be found? Hiding out in her own house seemed rather obvious…unless…

Unless Bellatrix was _going_ for obvious. Unless she _wanted_ to be discovered; maybe this was it, then. Maybe being discovered and confronted by the Order was exactly what Bellatrix had wanted all along. It would certainly give her an advantage, given that she was in the safety of her own home, and in turn she'd have an edge on Harry and the others.

_Oh, Harry,_ Hermione thought, her nerves and anxiety all at once heightened. _Please be careful; please, Harry._

"I see…" Hermione supplied finally, realizing she had yet to answer the Elf. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name; I'm Hermione…and you are?"

"Kinney," She replied after a beat of silence. "My name is Kinney, missus. I knows all about you, of course—you was friends with Dobby, you was!"

"You knew Dobby?" Hermione asked, perking up considerably. Kinney nodded, her large, watery eyes trailing over Hermione's face.

"Of course I knows of Dobby, missus!" Kinney breathed, a sort of eagerness spreading across her face. "We all knows of Dobby; he helped to save Mr. Harry Potter, he did! Dobby's a legend among House Elves now, he is!"

A small smile spread across Hermione's face at the mention of Dobby and what he'd done for Harry; it was true, he'd managed to save Harry's life on more than one occasion. Hermione was happy to hear that he was receiving at least a fraction of the recognition he deserved—at least in the House Elf community.

"Pardon me, Kinney," Hermione began again, swallowing in hopes of lubricating her throat. "But if you work for the Lestranges, why are you down here?"

Kinney gave Hermione a rather bashful sort of look and lifted her hands, revealing rolls of gauze bandaging and antiseptic clutched in her tiny grip. All at once, Hermione understood…Kinney had come to care for Hermione's injuries. And if Hermione knew Bellatrix at all, then she was willing to bet that the House Elf had done it without permission (not that Hermione believed Kinney needed permission to do _anything_, of course, but her thoughts on House Elf liberation was another matter entirely).

"Master and mistress would punish Kinney if they knew, missus," Kinney breathed, her eyes wide and fearful. "But Kinney has to protect Harry Potter's friend; Kinney has to!"

But something Kinney said struck Hermione as odd. _Master_ and mistress. Meaning…

"Kinney, who is your master?" She asked slowly, the words dangling in the air around them.

"Mister Rodolphus Lestrange indeed!" Kinney asked, trembling as she uttered his name.

Was that…did that mean that the man she'd seen hovering above her in the parlor was Bellatrix's _husband_? Rodolphus Lestrange was _alive_? Hermione tried to process this information as best she could, but no matter which angle she looked at it from…it was hefty. Dealing with the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange's husband was alive and well out of Azkaban was too much for the young Witch to take on all at once. However, instead of focusing on Rodolphus Lestrange, Hermione swallowed her budding fear and watched as Kinney went about carefully bandaging the small cuts and scrapes that covered Hermione's body—starting with her fingers.

"Kinney," Hermione began suddenly, her voice soft and cautious. "You don't…you don't have to live a life like this, you know; Dobby wouldn't have wanted it for anyone. You can…you can come with us—Draco and me. We'll take you to Harry—to the Order—and you'll be safe. You won't have to live the life of a prisoner anymore; you can be free, Kinney, I promise."

Hermione's words seemed to evoke a rather strong reaction within the House Elf, for soon she was dropping the bandages and antiseptic in her hand, bashing one of her fists against her head and crying out in what Hermione could only describe as agony. Her eyes welled up with tears and spilled over, dropping onto her filthy clothes. The other hand was still tightly wrapped around the match, which was dying out. It flickered, and then they were enveloped in darkness once more.

"You are too kind, missus; Dobby always said Harry Potter and his friends were nice, he did!" Kinney sniffled somewhere in the darkness, and Hermione felt her heart ache for the poor creature who'd been so wrongly enslaved.

"But I can't go with you, I's can't!" Kinney continued, and there was a hiss as she lit a second match. The space around them was illuminated once more—dimly, but still visible—and Hermione blinked as her eyes adjusted to the scant amount of light. "This is where Kinney belongs, missus, this is. Please, missus, you gots to understand, you do…" Kinney trailed off, sniffling and rubbing at her large nose again. Hermione stared at the creature with pity and a fierce longing to save her; to protect her and all other House Elves who had endured such torment.

But Kinney, who had clearly decided she was done with the conversation at hand, bent down and picked up a tub of what Hermione could only guess was…butter? Kinney cradled it under one arm, and at once Hermione's brows furrowed together.

"Kinney, what is that?" Hermione asked pointedly, her gaze resting on the plastic container. Kinney blushed and reached over, setting the small tub in Hermione's lap.

"When theys brought you down here, Kinney was watching, she was," Kinney explained, shifting awkwardly from where she stood nearby. Master and mistress had the big werewolf bring you down to the dungeons, they did—" Fenrir; it could only have been Fenrir. "—and he's not so good with magic—Kinney witnessed it herself! He doesn't know how to cast lots of enchantments, no he doesn't, so Kinney watched as he shackled you up, missus, and Kinney was shocked when he didn't put magic on the handcuffs! None all, missus, no he didn't! Just regular handcuffs they are, missus! Regular!"

All at once, everything slammed into place. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had ordered Fenrir to carry Hermione down to the dungeon, and since the werewolf didn't have much experience with enchantments, he'd been unable to place a ward of sorts on the handcuffs Hermione found enclosed around her wrists. Which meant that…that they served as regular Muggle handcuffs; there was nothing extraordinary about them. Hermione glanced down at the tub of butter placed in her lap with a great deal of new meaning. She could use it to add a bit of lubrication to the metal shackles; her wrists were already relatively loose around them as it was, so really, it wouldn't have been all that difficult. And…it was all because of the House Elf standing before her.

Kinney had brought it down for her. Kinney was helping Hermione escape.

All at once, Hermione was filled with gratitude so sincere that she was afraid she might burst from an overflow of emotions. She had no idea what to say—no idea what to do—so she just smiled at the House Elf and thanked her. Kinney responded with a bashful smile, and Hermione tried once more to broach on the subject of freedom. This only seemed to upset Kinney, for the Elf made the same excuses and wrung her hands together, extinguishing the match and grabbing her things off the ground before making an excuse to leave. Hermione was a bit heartbroken by her reluctance, but determined to save and liberate Kinney nevertheless.

For now, though…she'd focused on freeing herself of these handcuffs. Hermione Granger had a Malfoy to find, and she wouldn't rest until she'd located him.

* * *

><p><strong>aN:** Hey guys! Much like last time, I've uploaded two chapters back to back; not really sure how I managed that! We're getting down to the final chapters now; only a few more left until we reach the conclusion! I've had a lot of fun so far and would really like to hear what all of you think, so please, leave your comments in the review section and-as always-have a great day!


	23. Blood Traitor

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Twenty-Two: **Blood Traitor

"_Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future and renders the present inaccessible."_

_- Maya Angelou_

* * *

><p>Over the course of time, Draco Malfoy had learnt that the strangest of packages seemed to arrive in the dead of night. During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Bellatrix and a few others had shown up late in the evening to watch the assassination of one Albus Dumbledore. Once during the year he spent away from all good society, working for the Dark Lord and tending to his every ridiculous whim, he'd spent an entire night watching his comrades take turns torturing and interrogating prisoners of war. And even the Battle of Hogwarts itself was something Draco only became involved in once night had properly fallen. This evening, however, came with a very…<em>different<em> sort of surprise. One Draco had never expected; facing a man he'd only ever seen in photographs and oil paintings.

Rodolphus Lestrange was a rather unkempt sort of man—vastly different from the greasy, groomed bastard he'd seen in so many family albums over the course of his young life; Draco rather supposed that prison life had done wonders to deteriorate the Lestrange patriarch's looks and hygiene…something that had evidently carried on into his life as a free man. Truth be told, Draco had deemed Rodolphus dead long ago; his aunt Bellatrix had always made a point of completely ignoring his existence in favor of devoting all of her worries and soul to serving the Dark Lord…often, Draco mused over whether or not Bellatrix had harbored any romantic feelings at _all_ for her missing husband. As time crept on and Bellatrix became a more prominent part of Draco's adolescent life, the young Malfoy grew more and more inclined to believe that Bellatrix's attachment to Rodolphus was nonexistent.

At this point in his life, he was almost certain of it.

They were certainly an emotionless lot, his aunt and her long lost husband. Even before he'd witnessed his aunt's treachery firsthand, Draco had long since been fearful of her. After all, Witches and Wizards didn't land themselves in Azkaban for _frivolous_ reasons. As a child, before Bellatrix had made the great escape and busted out of the high security wizarding prison, Draco often entertained the thought that she had razor sharp fangs and dark circles under her eyes. Sometimes, he thought she probably looked like a hag; he'd heard all about her trademark curls and dark eyes, but thinking about that manic laugh of hers and the knife she always kept by her side was more than enough to terrify the youngest Malfoy on more than one occasion.

Of course, even his imagination hadn't given Bellatrix's particular brand of insanity enough credit.

Rodolphus, on the other hand, was another story entirely. Neither Narcissa nor Lucius had ever bothered to inform Draco much about the strange man…Draco had always supposed it was due to their severe lack of interest in anything and everything Rodolphus had done. _Bellatrix_ was the Dark Lord's most trusted warrior, _Bellatrix_ was the one who was most directly related to his family, and _Bellatrix_ was the one his mother had been concerned for in Azkaban. Not Rodolphus; _never_ Rodolphus. And up until recently, Draco had never been given much of a reason to concern himself with the man, either.

Of course, the recent discovery that he was not only _alive_ but partnered with his wife in this crazy attempt to rise to power changed things quite a bit.

In hindsight, Draco supposed he should have seen it coming; realistically, Rodolphus would have wanted a private session with Draco to…talk things over. After all, it was only natural to assume that Rodolphus was the brains behind the entire operation; Bellatrix was skilled with a wand and absolutely ruthless, but Draco knew from personal experience that the deranged Witch didn't possess the necessary patience that came with winning a war. He believed that, had it been entirely up to her, Bellatrix would have tried to slaughter everyone right away and would have worried about collecting the Hallows afterwards. She wouldn't have put the sort of planning, waiting, and calculated attack strategies into all of this…probably, she would have just stormed into the Ministry of Magic with a band of followers and started flinging curses at anyone nearby.

No, no, Rodolphus _had_ to be behind this…it only made sense.

Still, though…when Draco was forcibly dragged from his holding cell in the dead of night and deposited into a small, dark room he couldn't make heads or tails of, he was frightened out of his bloody mind. One moment, he'd unwillingly drifted off to sleep after hours of pain and easing in and out of consciousness had overwhelmed him. The next, he'd felt himself being jolted awake by a pair of strong arms dragging his body up two flights of stairs and depositing him on the ground of a small room. Stars dotted his vision, and Draco lifted a trembling hand to rub at the back of his head; he could feel a large knot forming at the base of his skull (probably from his head bashing against both walls _and_ stairs as he was dragged about the entire bloody estate) and knew he'd end up with a nasty bruise come morning.

After a great deal of maneuvering around the darkened room, Draco had discovered it was equipped with a wooden table, two rotting chairs, and what he could only suppose was a lamp in one corner. He settled against one wall, searching his person for any sort of weapon he could possibly use to defend himself…quite unfortunately, however, it all went to waste. Not even five minutes after he'd been so carelessly deposited, the door opened…revealing the tall, slim figure of a man he'd only just properly met a handful of hours before.

Rodolphus Lestrange. Again, he should've seen it coming.

"I see you've made yourself right at home," were the first words to leave the elder man's mouth. Unexpected, certainly, but then again…there was very little Draco even _knew_ about his uncle. Did he and Bellatrix share similar personality traits? Did he crave and lust after murder and power just as terribly as she did? Was he just as prone to bouts of manic delusions and insanity? Was he just as _terrifying_ as she could be?

He supposed there was only one way to find out.

"Clearly," He answered through clenched teeth, pulling himself off of the ground and pressing his back securely against the wall. He was still in a great deal of pain from his torturing session, and while he wanted nothing more than allow his knees to buckle and give way so that he could curl up on the ground and ignore the pain that jolted through his entire frame, he stood tall. He _had_ to. Draco was hardly brave or fierce or noble, but he was an extremely proud and vain sort of individual…one who _refused_ to show weakness in the face of an enemy.

Even if the enemy was his own bloody uncle.

"What? No warm welcome?" Rodolphus asked, reaching for what Draco could only assume was his wand and magically lighting the room. The lamp in the corner flickered to life, illuminating the greasy bastard Draco begrudgingly acknowledged as his uncle. "Your aunt warned me you might be a bit…_standoffish_."

A plethora of biting remarks tore through Draco's mind, each more sarcastic than the next, but for the sake of staying alive…he remained silent. Rodolphus didn't seem like the sort of bloke Draco would want to piss off; and besides, _he_ had the wand in their current situation. It would be more than a little foolish for Draco to unnecessarily back talk the man keeping him held hostage.

Still, though, one question begged immediate attention, and that was…

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to have a little chat with you, nephew," Rodolphus explained, yanking the nearest chair out and sitting down. He nodded towards the vacant seat across the table, gesturing for Draco to sit down and join him. Reluctantly, he did.

"Regarding?" Draco demanded, pressing himself against the back of his chair in the hopes of staying as far away from Rodolphus as was physically possible. For all intents and purposes, Draco viewed the man as little more than vermin.

"_Surely_ you must know by now—don't think Bellatrix and myself have been ignorant of what you and your Mudblood have been up to the past few months," Rodolphus drawled, arching one bushy brow in Draco's direction. Draco's lips pressed into a thin line, and the urge to wipe his clammy hands off on his trousers was excruciating…but he wouldn't. He had to remain calm; he had to _resist_.

"So I'll make it easy for you," He continued, leaning across the table and resting his elbows on the wooden surface. "_Where are the remaining Hallows, boy_?"

It took a great deal more courage than Draco would ever be able to admit out loud, but _finally_—and with a _great_ deal of hesitation—he managed to grumble out: "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Rodolphus responded to this answer by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shaking his head; an obvious sign of dissatisfaction. He shook his head and sighed, twirling his wand in one hand and giving Draco a most _disapproving_ look under the dim light of the flickering lamp. From this angle, the Death Eater looked downright _eerie_.

"Disappointing—I had expected more from you, you know," Rodolphus commented, assessing Draco from where he sat. "Then again, you _are_ your father's son, aren't you?"

"My father's got nothing to do with this," Draco spat through gritted teeth, clenching his hands into trembling fists underneath the table. If only he had his _wand_; if only he had _some_ weapon of defense against the sharp-tongued arse seated across from him.

"Perhaps not," Rodolphus commented in an offhand manner, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "Though I'd be interested to see what he and your mother would have to say about this little adventure you've gone on…maybe they could even tell me _themselves_ how to reason with you and the Mudblood. Given the right…_motivation_, of course."

If there had ever been a time in young Draco Malfoy's life where he'd wanted to completely and ultimately destroy another human being, it was now. It was with Rodolphus Lestrange, and he would show _no_ mercy.

However…with no wand, no backup, and no exit strategy, though, his chances of overpowering his uncle were slim to none at the current moment.

"My my, we _are_ upset, aren't we?" Rodolphus continued, his dry lips cracking into an unpleasant grin. Draco narrowed his eyes in the elder man's direction, determined not to back down. "So I'll ask one final time: where have you and your Mudblood hidden the Hallows?"

"I can't seem to _remember_," Draco spat, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring in anger.

"A faulty memory—how unfortunate, nephew," Rodolphus tutted, shoving away from the rickety chair he'd been seated in only moments before in favor of leaning across the table, severing the space that separated them. "Perhaps your Mudblood friend will be able to tell us where they're hidden. She seemed _quite_ vocal when I met her earlier."

Images of torture; of pain and agony and careless treatment of Hermione Granger flooded Draco's mind, and try as he might to sit still and emotionless, the thought was more than enough to send a jolt of pain to his chest. He wanted more than anything to tear this blasted manor to pieces; to rip the Lestrange Estate to bits, stone by stone, until he'd located his partner. Months spent in isolation with Granger had established a sort of dependence between the two, and even the mere idea that she was locked away somewhere in this prison, alone and hurting, was more than enough to cause Draco to falter. His face fell, and though it was only for a moment, the expression was obvious enough for Rodolphus to pick up on.

"Did I strike a nerve, nephew?" He questioned, leaning closer so that his rank breath washed over Draco's face. The youngest Malfoy resisted the impulse to spit in his face. "Worried for your pet, are you?"

"…The Mudblood means nothing to me," Draco forced himself to say; though he'd told himself just days before their capture that Granger was an exception to his prejudice, Draco found that even the _utterance_ of the word tasted like acid in his mouth.

The nasty grin on Rodolphus' face informed him that the elder Wizard didn't buy a _damn_ thing the younger Wizard was saying. And Draco didn't entirely blame him.

"Sure you aren't developing a soft spot for their kind?" He sneered, crossing the room so that he stood before his nephew. Draco grew stiff and rigid from head to toe, praying to Merlin that Rodolphus wouldn't pull any tricks on him tonight. He knew next to nothing about the strange man he was forced to acknowledge as his uncle…but Draco was willing to bet that if he'd married Bellatrix, he _had_ to be every bit as fucked up and cruel as she was.

"Positive," Draco snapped, jutting his chin forward in an act of defiance. He braced himself for what was to come, inwardly wincing when Rodolphus chose to grab roughly at Draco's tattered robes, yanking him to his feet and slamming the young Wizard against the nearest wall. Draco's back cracked and ached from the force of the slam, and he resisted the urge to grunt and flinch in response to Rodolphus' rough treatment. He squirmed against the elder man's restraint, but then Rodolphus was murmuring a Body Bind Curse, and…try as he might to move, Draco was _stuck_. As though frozen to the spot, the curse prohibited Draco from moving even a fraction of an inch, and he found that he could do little more than glare in his captor's direction. His eyes were narrowed into slits and his nostrils were flaring…and Rodolphus seemed to take no notice of this. Instead, he seemed particularly concentrated on his wand; glancing down at it and running his hands over the smooth wood. He appeared lost in thought, and a slur of curses and insults rose to Draco's mind.

He wanted, more than anything, to somehow win the upper hand in their current situation. True, he was bound still by a curse from the very man who seemed hell bent on torturing information out of him, and he didn't have a wand or weapon to his name, but…perhaps there was something—_anything_—he could do to escape? Anything at all?

One glance around the small room, however, informed Draco of all he needed to know: there was no possible way for him to defend himself against what was to come. And it was entirely likely that Rodolphus would kill him tonight.

The most dangerous thing about this man, Draco decided, was his unpredictability. He'd been absolutely certain Rodolphus planned on torturing the information out of him, so when the elder Wizard lifted his wand, pointed it at Draco's temple, and hissed "_Legilimens_", Draco had no time to mentally prepare himself to block out his opponent's advances. He felt pressure all around; as though someone was grabbing hold of his head and crushing his skull. He grit his teeth and felt his body trembling from the inside out. Rodolphus had successfully penetrated the young man's mind, and Draco could _feel_ the magic poking and prodding at his memories invasively. Draco's thoughts slipped through Rodolphus' fingers like sand; he flipped through them quickly and with great intent. Images of past events and circumstances floated to the forefront of Draco's mind, and he felt his throat grow dry and his chest ache at the mere possibility of Rodolphus stumbling across important information. The thought of him coming across the Order's location, what they'd done with the Resurrection Stone, the fact that they'd called an army for back-up shortly before being captured…and then there was Granger. If Rodolphus was given even the _slightest_ bit of insight to the true state of his nephew's feelings for his business partner…then he would surely use it against him. Whether he'd kill Granger or torture her to get to Draco, he was uncertain. He just knew that he had to try to block Rodolphus' advances. It was damn near impossible, given that he'd already penetrated his mind, but…he'd try; no matter how mentally exhausting it might be, he'd _try_.

Images of him and Granger trekking across Great Britain in search of the Hallows rose to memory; nights where they studied the maps and crossed out areas they'd thoroughly searched ran rampant through his mind. There was the moment he and Granger had discovered the Resurrection Stone with Hagrid, and the meeting gone wrong they'd shared with a Death Eater some time afterwards. The night he'd released Granger from the band of Snatchers who held her captured flitted across his vision…as did the intimacy they shared with one another afterwards. Draco swore he could hear Rodolphus hiss in disgust, and he tried to jerk his head away from the Death Eater, forcing a barrier to slam shut on his memories. He was able to finally force Rodolphus out of his mind—just barely—but the damage was already done. Rodolphus had already seen everything he needed to know.

He knew that Potter had the Stone and the Cloak; he knew that they'd found one of the Hallows at the edge of the Forbidden Forest…that another was already safe with the Order. But, perhaps more important than all of that was the information he'd procured about his nephew's relationship with Harry Potter's precious Muggle-born.

And judging by the look of utter _repulsion_ that crossed Rodolphus' features when he finally managed to tear himself out of Draco's mind, he hadn't missed glossing over a single sordid detail.

Suddenly, Draco felt very, _very_ ill.

"Positive you aren't developing a soft spot for Mudbloods, are you?" Rodolphus spat, his beady eyes narrowing in Draco's direction. He looked ready to bloody _throttle_ the youngest Malfoy, and Draco found that he was genuinely, well…_frightened_ of what this wretched man planned on doing to him. The realization that Draco had developed feelings for a Mudblood seemed to completely outweigh any potential joy or satisfaction that Rodolphus Lestrange might have felt over _finally_ discovering the location of the missing Hallows. Indeed, it seemed to be the only real thing he was concerned with at the present.

Not a good sign. Not a good sign _at all_.

"You're the _filth_ of our kind; you're _disgusting_, Blood Traitor," Rodolphus spat, and the insult stung worse than Draco cared to admit. His whole life—his entire bloody _existence_—had revolved around the fact that he was considered one of the elite Purebloods…he descended from a line of nothing but Purebloods. And hadn't he himself spent years upon years at Hogwarts scorning people like the Weasleys? Purebloods who fraternized with those of impure blood?

And yet…here he was; here was what his entire life boiled down to. All of those years of status, wealth, and an elite frame of mind...and at the end of the day, he was a Blood Traitor, too. It was by no means the first time he'd thought about it since growing close to Granger, nor would it be the last.

What was extraordinary about this instance, though, was his inability to care. Six months ago, he might have been defensive and humiliated over the mere _mention_ of him being a Blood Traitor. Now, though, all he had to think about was Granger, and all other petty titles and insecurities melted away.

All that mattered was her safety. Not his title or validation as a Pureblood. Rodolphus didn't know this yet…but he would soon enough.

"Well?" Rodolphus barked, shoving away from Draco and halfheartedly lifting the Body Bind Curse the blond was currently held in. Draco felt his entire body sag forward, aching and throbbing after being confined for so long, and his hands tenderly rubbed at his wrists as he struggled to regain his strength.

"Well _what_?" Draco spat, standing tall and curling his lips into a dissatisfied scowl.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

It was a simple enough question, in theory—Draco could've only guessed that Rodolphus wanted one of two things from the young man he'd spent the night harassing: first and foremost, to admit that he was a Blood Traitor. And secondly…to try and _deny_ that he was.

Unfortunately for the Lestrange patriarch, Draco had no intention of doing either.

"The Order's going to destroy you," Draco hissed, every muscle in his body trembling and quivering just beneath his skin. He was clearly on edge, and Rodolphus was taken aback by the young Wizard's heated response. Not expecting such a resistant reaction, Rodolphus lifted his wand and aimed it at Draco, clearing his throat before calling out for…none other than Fenrir Greyback. Shit.

"Not with the advantage we have now," Rodolphus growled, stepping out of the doorway just in time for Fenrir to come barreling in, fierce and determined. "Greyback, escort my _nephew_ back to his cell; he has a great deal to think about before morning arrives."

"You'll never get away with it—you're one step behind everyone here; Azkaban's slowed down your reflexes, _old man_," Draco commented, resisting Fenrir as the muscular werewolf gripped him tight, sure to keep a secure hold on the youngest Malfoy. He stood no match against the primitive creature, of course, but…he hated knowing that Greyback was _touching_ him; that he would forcibly push, shove, and kick Draco all the way to his destination. Rodolphus seemed to notice this and took a great deal of satisfaction in watching Draco's subtle defenses; his lips cracked into a wide grin and he stepped forward, following his associate and struggling prisoner over to the doorway.

"Perhaps not…though I suspect you'll be long dead before you receive the chance to find out," Rodolphus replied, his voice low and hoarse. Draco watched, wide-eyed and fearful, as Greyback pulled him out of the room and down the hall, more or less dragging his body throughout the dusty expanse of the Lestrange Estate. And Rodolphus' words, hollow and vicious, echoed through his mind all the while.

_I suspect you'll be long dead before you receive the chance to find out_.

The words haunted Draco in a way he couldn't even begin to explain. He had no idea what Rodolphus planned on doing with him, exactly…but now he'd been given a bit of insight into his next step: executing Draco. And along with the murder of his nephew was sure to come the brutal slaughter of his Blood Traitor relative's sidekick…Granger. And that alone was enough to terrify Draco into silence for the duration of his journey back down to the dungeons. He had to escape within the next ten to twelve hours, then—he couldn't stay here another night; not now that he was perfectly aware of what gruesome fate awaited him once the sun rose. He'd lost count of how many hours he'd been tucked away in the Lestrange manor for; maybe twenty, maybe thirty. The exact amount was irrelevant; all that Draco cared about now was getting out. _Immediately_.

And he'd go through hell and back to make sure he and Granger made it out of this blasted prison alive.

By the time Fenrir had made it back down to the cells, Draco in tow, he was in particularly high spirits. It seemed he'd been informed of Draco's fate far earlier than Draco himself had, which irritated the Malfoy heir to no bloody end. He was deposited onto the ground with a dull thud, and then Fenrir was chaining him to the wall again. This time, though, Draco made no move to resist; he had to be careful about his escape…it would require an hour or two of strategy planning, tops, which meant that—as much as he hated to admit it—he had to submit to the Death Eaters and followers. Just temporarily, though; just long enough to get him out of here alive. Just long enough to deceive them into thinking he was willing to submit to their every whim and fancy.

The hat hadn't sorted him into Slytherin for nothing, after all.

"Someone will be to collect you in the morning, itty bitty Malfoy," Fenrir commented, grinning and baring his yellowed fangs. Draco resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose and flinch in disgust. "Who knows? Maybe Bellatrix will even agree to let me have you for lunch."

He'd never admit it out loud, but that comment was enough to _petrify_ Draco right on the spot.

When Fenrir had finally engaged in enough verbal torment and torture for one night, he finally left, clomping up the stone steps loudly and shutting the cellar door behind him, thereby enveloping Draco in darkness. His shackles scraped against the hard, cold floor, and he lifted one clammy hand to rub at his temple. He had to think, then…a reasonable way to escape, somehow locate Granger, find a way to obtain wands or weapons of some sort to use for defense, and then escape without too many obstacles standing in their way.

How in the _hell_ was he supposed to accomplish _any_ of this?

Just when Draco was prepared to tug on his bright locks and scream in frustration, he detected a slight movement out of the corner of his eyes. It was difficult to distinguish anything in this dank cellar, but he could have sworn he saw even the slightest of movements off in the left hand corner of his field of vision. He tensed, bracing himself and flattening his back against the wall he was currently chained to. Was this it, then? Was it possible that Rodolphus and Bellatrix suspected that Draco planned on escaping and had sent someone to finish the job of murdering him tonight? _Right now_? Draco held his breath, his fingers digging into the concrete below him, and just when he was prepared to cry out in astonishment…Granger stepped into the spotlight.

Now, Draco wasn't a particularly emotional sort of individual—that had been the entire issue in his relationship with Astoria. His inability to emotionally connect with another person on a deep and complex level (or, at the very least, express said emotional connection) had made developing long lasting friendships and relationships exceedingly difficult. He'd shut down his compassion and empathy for so long that he had no sodding idea how to go about caring for someone. But right in that moment—seeing Granger's battered face and figure emerge from the shadows—was nearly enough to cause Draco to dissolve into hysteria. He wasn't going to bloody _cry_ or anything, of course, but…fuck, if he'd been anyone else—anyone at all—he _might've_ broken down. Just seeing her—even with worry lines etched onto her fair features—and knowing that she was alright and alive…it provided him with a stronger sense of relief than Draco could even begin to explain. His heart leapt to his throat and his mouth grew very dry…he simultaneously wished to express a million things to her while also being entirely unaware of what to say. Now that she was here; now that she was by his side, despite the fact that she hadn't even talked, Draco knew that somehow…things would be alright.

Because…Merlin, she was _alive_. She was _here_; she was _safe_.

"Granger," He managed to choke out, unable to say anything—anything at all—other than her surname. His fingers trembled and quivered as she shushed him and reached for him in the dark; it was when her fingers brushed against his forearm that Draco realized she was trembling, too. There was so much to be said—so much he _wanted_ to say to her, and he was willing to bet the same could be said for her. But both acknowledged that they had very little time for sentiments at the proper moment…Draco just hoped there would be time later on. That there _would_ be a later on.

"Don't," She choked out, shaking her head and causing her hair to brush against the side of his face. "Whatever sort of…of remark or commentary you have to make, it can wait."

It was when she said this that Draco slammed his mouth shut. In truth, he'd had no idea what he planned on saying to her…just that he needed to say _something_. Anything to let her know how he felt. But he knew she wasn't here for talking, so Draco forced himself to fight through the thoughts surrounding his relief and exhilaration just in time to hear her whisper—

"I know a way out. We're leaving, Malfoy…we're leaving tonight."

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><p><strong>aN:** Hey there, everyone! It's been a little while, I know, but I was in a fanfic writing funk for a while, and then life got pretty busy! I'm here now, though, and I'm super excited about the last few chapters of Shades of Grey that I've got planned! I would just like to thank everyone for reading along with this story so far, sending me messages about it, live blogging their readings, and-of course-leaving awesome reviews. You guys are the best and I'm forever thankful! I hope you liked the chapter; I'm really excited for the next two chapters in particular, and I can't wait for your guys to read them! Again, thank you so much and please, please review!


	24. The Escape Plan

_**Shades of Grey**_

**Chapter Twenty-Three: **The Escape Plan

"_The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."_

- G.K. Chesterton

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><p>"How long have we been here, Granger?" were the first words to fall from Draco Malfoy's lips. No inquiry as to how she was, or how she'd managed to escape from wherever the hell Rodolphus and Bellatrix had locked her up at, or what her plan was for getting them both out alive and well. Just…how long they'd been there. Hermione knew it wasn't his finest moment, to be sure, but the question <em>was<em> one that had been nagging her for hours now as well. Time seemed to melt away down here in the dungeons—unable to tell day from night, Hermione had simply allowed her body to lapse into an ever-constant state of night. And even when she'd been locked away in a room high above the cellars of the Lestrange estate, telling day from night had been next to impossible.

So instead of giving her partner the answer he'd been hoping for, Hermione could only sigh and give a slight shrug of her shoulders. If there had been enough light to make out the full frame of his figure, she would've seen his shoulders safe in defeat and the hope fade out of his eyes.

"Your guess is as good as mine," She managed softly, digging around in one of her pockets. She retrieved the bobby pin she'd located earlier before quickly going to work at trying to remove one of his handcuffs.

"What are you doing?" He asked suddenly, and Hermione supposed the question came out a bit harsher than he'd intended.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing, Malfoy?" She quipped, clearly exasperated. "I'm trying to free you from these blasted things." The young Witch grunted, twisting her hand and yanking on his arm, struggling to free him from the metal shackles that were enclosed around his wrists.

"Surely you don't think you're going to get the job done with a scrap of _metal_, Granger," He drawled, shifting on the concrete floor. They'd only been together for five minutes and he was already attempting to bait her into an argument of some sort. Typical. "Greyback stuffed me down here; the handcuffs have got to be charmed…or something of the sort."

"For your information, Malfoy, I have reason to believe these handcuffs aren't enchanted," Hermione explained, sniffing and angling the thin piece of metal differently. "_And secondly_, this isn't just some scrap of metal…it's a bobby pin—I've got to work with what I have lying around, after all."

"What makes you so sure?" Draco countered; he was entirely skeptical of everything she had to say. As per usual. "About the handcuffs, I mean."

"A House Elf informed me of as much before freeing me," She explained simply, as though there was little else to say on the matter. And in truth, there wasn't; Kinney hadn't been able to give away too much before being forced to report back to the Lestrange patriarch for her next assignment. Hermione's chest ached at the thought of the abuse the poor House Elf must have gone through; the abuse she _would_ go through if Rodolphus or Bellatrix were to ever discover that their…ugh…their _slave_ had been helping Harry Potter's prized "Mudblood."

"A _House Elf_ freed you?" Draco blurted out, and although Hermione couldn't judge his facial expression well in the dark, she was willing to bet his eyebrows were sky high and his lips were fighting off the instinctive urge to twist themselves into a satisfied smirk.

He only served to prove her point, really, when he scoffed and replied with: "Why am I not surprised?"

"You need to be a little less focused on your lack of astonishment, Malfoy, and a great deal more concentrated on the task at hand," Hermione chided just as she opened the first handcuff. Pleased that she'd been able to do a fairly adequate job of freeing him, she set to work unlocking the remaining handcuff. This one seemed to come off easier than the first did, and within ten minutes, Draco was freed. She could feel him shifting as he rubbed at his undoubtedly chaffing wrists in the dark, allowing him a moment or two to adjust before reaching out and enclosing her small fingers around his hand.

"_Come on_, then! We've got to hurry!"

"You _still_ haven't informed me just what it is we plan on doing," Draco hissed, scrambling to his feet and following Hermione's lead (or so she hoped; it was impossible to tell down here, given how dark it was).

"I told you…escaping," Hermione breathed, nearly tripping over herself as she made her way up the concrete steps. Draco was right behind her, clearly confused and frustrated that Granger chose now of all bloody moments to be vague as hell. Ordinarily, Hermione took a great amount of time to go to extensive lengths in order to ensure that their plan was clear, concise, and properly executed. Given the small frame of time they currently had, though, she'd been forced to forgo organization in favor of their ultimate survival. Surely Malfoy would understand that.

Then again…

"I'm going to need a little more than that, Granger," Draco managed through gritted teeth, rolling his eyes and nearly stumbling over a slanted step on his ascent. Hermione felt his hands brush against him when he did that, and as a direct result, she nearly lost her footing in the process. A grunt-like noise toppled forth from her lips, and she reached out, scrabbling at the walls around her in the dark as they made their way up the steep set of stairs that would lead to the Lestrange estate's main floor.

"_Fine_," Hermione spat, frustrated beyond all belief as she whipped around to face Draco in the dark stairwell. "I have it under good authority that Bellatrix chooses this time of night to sleep while her husband keeps watch on their guards and the prisoners; though, given how _busy_ Rodolphus has been this evening, I doubt he'll be as attentive as he should be. Either way, he typically chooses to do his business in the north end of the house, so…we'll be escaping through the south."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Draco hissed when Hermione turned around; they were nearly at the top of the stairs now, and with each heavy step, Hermione felt her thighs quiver and threaten to give way beneath her. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she…Merlin, she was _nervous_. Anxiety crept up her spine and overwhelmed her; it ignited in her abdomen and spread through her like a wildfire. It was in the shaky way she whispered things to her comrade, and in the way her hands—clammy and sticky—slipped against the wall she was struggling so valiantly to cling to. It was in the way she snapped at Draco and found herself unable to explain herself properly.

It was in absolutely everything she did, and Hermione's fear was so tangible that she felt _naked_ and _exposed_ blanketed underneath it.

"Luck, Malfoy," She answered finally, running a shaky hand through her hair. "We use luck."

It was the easiest answer she could've given, really, even though it did next to nothing to calm either one of their frazzled nerves. They were at the top of the staircase now, and Hermione took a moment to lean forward and press her ear against the wooden door. She waited for any telltale signs of life stirring around on the other side of the dungeon's entrance, but could hear no murmurs, footsteps, or any indication of breathing going on outside.

With a great deal more bravery than she felt, Hermione quietly turned the brass knob on the door, wincing at its initial creaking as she pushed it open. And then, just as she'd suspected…nothing. No one was standing there, waiting with a wand at the ready to shoot them down. And although they were still deep within the heart of the manor, Hermione felt her heart sink to her stomach with relief. They still had so far to go, but…one less worry was shoved out of her mind, replaced with a bit more of that Gryffindor courage her House had been so noted for.

"So…that must mean that Rodolphus had me locked in the north area of the estate," Draco murmured under his breath, and Hermione paused for a moment before nodding to agree with him. She didn't think it wise to talk now, given that any one of Bellatrix and Rodolphus' followers could be lurking behind a hidden corridor or waiting in the shadows, but she didn't open her mouth to voice that to her partner; instead, she lifted a hand and pressed her index finger to her lips. Malfoy glared at her before shutting his lips, and it was when Hermione was trying to wrap her mind around the general direction they were meant to be heading in that Draco tapped her shoulder and pointed to the wall behind her. Hermione whipped around, clearly expecting some sort of monster to be perched and waiting to attack them, but instead found…a hanging display lined with various daggers. All ranging in different lengths, sharpness, and blade thickness, it soon became clear to Hermione that this was some sort of…of shrine to the different weapons Bellatrix had used throughout her life.

If she'd had more time to properly inspect the glass display, she might've found it in her to be disgusted. As it was, though, only one thought rose to Hermione's mind: _weapons_. They were, quite understandably, ill-equipped for any trouble they might've run into. With no wands and no tools on them that could be used as weaponry, these daggers were their safest bet.

Hermione just hoped that Bellatrix hadn't been wise enough to magically charm them to the case they were resting in.

Thinking quick, Hermione glanced down at an end table located just beneath the wall of daggers, and quickly boosted herself up on her. With her knees resting against the surface of the table, she stretched her torso and reached for the first two daggers her fingers could manage to grasp. It took a bit of maneuvering and Draco grabbing hold of her waist to make sure she got them without falling and causing a great deal of noise, but finally, Hermione had them in her hands and was shakily sliding down and off the table. Wordlessly, she handed one to Draco, who inspected his weapon before gripping the cool handle in one hand and keeping the knife pressed tightly against one of his sides. Hermione mimicked his actions, though the dagger felt foreign in her grasp; she'd never had to handle a knife before—not like this, anyway—and the pressure that came with wielding such a weapon caused her forehead to break out into a thin layer of sweat.

So…the anxiety was still there, then.

Still, Hermione made sure to stay absolutely silent as she and Draco crept through the manor. There was no telling what lurked around every corner or behind each and every closed door they snuck past…and truth be told, Hermione didn't want to know the sort of horrors that laid within the Lestrange Estate. The mere _thought_ of what Bellatrix and her husband kept locked away was enough to have the young Muggle-born shuddering in horror.

There was a certain sort of anxiety that came with creeping through the house of two well-known Death Eaters; with every step she took, Hermione was paranoid that each creak of the floorboards beneath her would send Greyback or Bellatrix flying towards them, wands at the ready and aimed to kill.

But…it was a risk she'd have to take; it was better to face death head on, she believed, than to cower in front of the enemy and wait patiently for execution.

She wondered, idly, if Malfoy felt the same way.

Hermione figured that working their way to the house's main parlor would be their greatest opportunity for escape; she'd noticed a door just down the hallway past it that led outside, and if Bellatrix truly was asleep and Rodolphus was pacing back and forth on the opposite end of the house, then _surely_ she and Malfoy would be safe. Or, well…as safe as possible, given where they were currently _stranded_ at.

It would be unlikely that Greyback or anyone else would be lurking around and waiting for them…right?

_Merlin_, she certainly hoped so.

Regardless of whether or not they'd be safe by the time they reached the parlor's exit was irrelevant at the present; the trek through the house was long, tedious, and absolutely _hair-raising_. Hermione's heart was pounding erratically within her chest, thumping loudly against her rib cage and filling her ears with the sound of her blood pumping through her veins.

She didn't know how long they'd been trapped inside of the Lestrange Estate for, just that it felt as though she'd been locked away for a century. She wondered where Harry was, silently begging and pleading for him to show up with the back-up they'd surely need to make it back home safe…and alive. But she knew all too well that there was no way for Harry to get to her; not unless he and the rest of the Order had somehow magically figured out where Bellatrix was hiding them. The charmed coin had come in handy for alerting everyone else in the Order of the Phoenix that they'd been in danger, but…but that had been about as far as the coin's magic went.

Hope seemed bleak, they were just about out of options, and there was no guarantee that Hermione's hastily-prepared plan would work. But…it was the best option they had. It was the _only_ option they had.

And Hermione was taking it, regardless of the risks involved.

She was incredibly weary and exhausted, due to the combined lack of sleep and oppressive treatment she'd endured since she and Malfoy had been captured…when? When was it? Two days ago? Three? Hermione hardly knew at this point; her days mixed with her nights…her mornings with her afternoons. She'd completely lost track of time in the abyss of the Lestrange Manor—couldn't make heads or tails of what time of day they'd been brought in, and what time of day it was right now. All she really knew was how long it felt; like she'd been trapped in here for weeks. Months. Even years. Could it have really been under a week since she and Malfoy had been forcibly dragged here? Had her torture _really_ been that short?

Godric, it felt anything but.

So busy contemplating the length of time they'd spent in this vast prison, Hermione nearly missed Draco insistently nudging her side. Blinking, her eyes shifted forward and…settled on the parlor. The empty, quiet parlor. It…her plan had worked, then; her suspicions had been correct! They were free; they were in the clear! Practically panting with excitement, Hermione burst forward, a sloppy grin spreading across her lips and cracking her face nearly in half; her cheeks hurt from the intensity of the expression and her fingers ached from where they remained clenched around the display dagger she'd claimed possession of mere moments before. Hermione's excitement was full to _bursting_…which was why stumbling into the parlor and finding Bellatrix Lestrange, lurking in the shadows of the room and holding a small House Elf by the scruff of her collar, was such a letdown.

"No…" Hermione breathed brokenly, skidding to a halt. Draco, close behind her, placed a hand protectively on her back, his fingers stiff and rigid with tension. Wide-eyed, Hermione took the opportunity presented to them to fully assess their current…situation. As Bellatrix stepped into the light, holding Kinney by the threads of her raggedy outfit, Hermione noticed that she was flanked by Greyback and Thorfinn Rowle. Rodolphus didn't appear to be directly in sight, which further supported Hermione's claims that he was patrolling the other end of the Manor, too exhausted from a night of interrogation to be as alert as his wife _clearly_ was.

It was only when Draco let out a strangled sort of sound that Hermione noticed the bigger picture. Their three enemies weren't alone…they'd brought _back-up_.

Standing just behind Bellatrix and donning thick cloaks that hid their features were nearly a dozen hooded figures, waiting in silence for a command from their leader. And like that, all of Hermione's hopes and confidence deflated like a balloon. She thought—no, she _knew_—that Bellatrix would have no qualms about killing them now. She might not have the Hallows in their entirety, but…Draco and Hermione proved to be too much of a flight risk now; too dangerous to try and hold onto.

And Draco, realizing this all at the same time as Hermione, glanced worriedly at her. Their gazes stayed locked for the briefest of moments, and then both turned to face Bellatrix. Hermione, feeling anything but courageous and confident, squared her shoulders and glared at Bellatrix with no small amount of hatred. The dagger she held tight in her grip felt like a feeble and foolish decision now, in the face of so many Witches and Wizards who were surely fully armed, but…she would manage. Somehow, Hermione would manage with the means that were most readily available to her.

One way or another, that is.

"Thought you could slip out, now did you?" Bellatrix asked, a devilish smirk cracking across her lips. Her eyes were dark and shining with mischief, and with practiced movements she stepped forward, tossing Kinney to the floor. Kinney, bruised and beaten, scrambled into a sitting position, looking at Hermione with wide and sorrowful eyes. And in that moment, the young Gryffindor felt her heart ache for the House Elf…the small creature who had, more than likely, been forced into revealing the truth. Against her better judgment, against her instincts, against her own good will, she'd been forced to betray Hermione.

And for as much as she would have liked to blame someone in that instant for her misgivings, Hermione couldn't bear to lay any of the responsibility on the trembling, bedraggled creature cowering before her.

"_Thought_ being the operative word here," Draco muttered under his breath, jolting Hermione back to life. The phrase had been a ghost of a whisper—just barely audible enough for her to hear—and she stiffened immediately, gazing back at her partner with no small amount of bemusement. How was he able to feign such calmness right now? To act as though he was bothered very little by the situation they found themselves in? His facial features betrayed nothing, but the sensation of his hand against the small of her back, so stiff and cool, gave away the inner turmoil Hermione was certain was mirrored in her own stance and features.

She might not have understood a great deal about Draco Malfoy, but in that moment, Hermione was perfectly aware that…they were one in the same. His fear and hers, both so tangible and real, dominated them in that moment; there was nothing that divided them. Their anxiety and distress only served to bring them together, and Hermione thought—if only for a fraction of a moment—that if she were to die tonight…then at least it would be with someone she considered her equal.

Draco Malfoy…her _equal_. Merlin, if she'd told herself that ten months ago, Hermione might've laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. But now, with her gaze cast in Malfoy's direction and her mind wandering towards him, she embraced the thought.

_We are equals…and we'll leave the world together that way_.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen…" Bellatrix began again, making small, disappointed clucking noises. Hermione faced the Witch standing before her, watching for any sign of movement from any of her lackeys. The hooded figures had yet to move at all, making Hermione all the more uneasy about whatever plans they had for her and Malfoy. She fidgeted from one foot to the other, making sure to stand her ground, as Bellatrix took two more steps towards them. "I suppose you think I'd spare you, Draco? For the sake of your mother, or the Mark on your arm? The Mark you've _never_ deemed yourself worthy of carrying?" She hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes narrowing into vicious slits. "You were _wrong_."

Hermione, terrified yet determined, staggered backwards and, in one quick motion, reached out and tugged Draco closer towards her. Their fingers laced together in an act of defiance, and Hermione pulled Draco close to her frame, her heart beating out a staccato and her palms growing moist and clammy with sweat. She was a trembling, anxious ball of nerves, and managed to feebly lift the dagger she held in her hand. When Bellatrix glanced down at the weapon and _laughed_—a shrieking, high-pitched squeal of a noise—Hermione felt her temper _flare_. Rowle and Fenrir joined in, and the room was filled with a cacophonous chorus of brittle laughter that shook Hermione to her very _core_.

"What's this? The Mudblood plans on fighting me?!" She spit out, clearly amused by Hermione's determination. With a wave of her hand, Bellatrix finally addressed the hooded figures lurking in the shadows behind her. "Seize the prisoners. We'll attack the Ministry and the Order by sunrise."

Reflexively, Hermione pulled Draco closer, more or less struggling to shield his body with her own (to which he was quietly protesting), as the shadowy figures lurking behind Bellatrix stepped forward, raised their wands, and let down their hoods. But where Hermione was expecting to see people like Yaxley and even Rodolphus, she instead found herself looking into the weather-beaten, familiar faces of her loved ones.

She spotted Dean over in one corner, pressed closely against Seamus…then there was Hannah and Ernie, clasping each other's hands tightly, much as Hermione was doing to Draco. She saw Luna lingering in the back, her bright blonde hair illuminated against the stark black of her cloak, and flanked by Neville and Ginny. And then, finally, her eyes fell on the two faces she'd missed so much over the past few months…the lips and eyes and colorful expressions that had become so achingly familiar they were embedded into the recesses of her very mind. There, standing front and center, were Harry and Ron…_her_ Harry and Ron, standing defiant and tall as they brandished their weapons and aimed at the closest available target. In that moment, Hermione's relief and astonishment was so tangible that she nearly cried out and rushed over to fall at their feet; her mournful gaze was met with sorrowful ones of their own, and in that moment, Hermione knew…these were her boys, and they'd come to help her.

Just as they had the night the troll had nearly clobbered her to death. Just as they had every time she'd been attacked by Snape—or even Malfoy—growing up. Just as they'd always done. Just as they always would.

A beat of silence passed through the group as shock and anger overwhelmed Bellatrix's features, and before she could finish uttering her command of "Seize them!", someone was stepping forward and speaking for the entire group. But it wasn't Harry. It wasn't even Ron.

It was Neville.

"Like Hell you will."

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><p><strong>aN:** Hey hey, everyone! First of all, I'd like to apologize for the amount of time it took me to publish this chapter. The fact of the matter is, tons of crazy, hectic things have been happening in my life since my last update, and I haven't really felt much up to fanfiction writing ever since. But I'm back and in full swing, and I'm happy to finally bring you this chapter of Shades of Grey! As you know, we only have a few chapters left, and the next one might be one of my favorite to write! I don't know; I've yet to determine! Anyway, I really appreciate everyone who's shown an interest in this story; favorites, author/story follows, and comments on this-and any-of my stories have meant the absolute world to me. Reviews are better than sex, as they say, so you know what to do. ;)


	25. The Rise and Fall

**_Shades of Grey_**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: **The Rise and Fall

_"__Only the dead have seen the end of war."_

_- Plato_

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><p>It all happened so fast. One minute, Draco had been clutching onto Granger for dear life, his clammy hands grasping her form tight against his chest and his heart smacking violently against his rib cage. The next, the Order had thrown themselves into the fray, sacrificing themselves to save their precious Golden Girl and (much to their dismay) the Slytherin and former Death Eater who was along for the ride.<p>

Longbottom's fierce declaration of war set off a chain reaction, and Draco—as shocked as he was that the fumbling fuck up of a Gryffindor was able to contribute much more than sweat and stuttering—found that his words triggered his comrades into action. Bellatrix, as if in slow motion, raised her wand high up in the air and flicked her wrist, emitting a series of sparks from the tip of her wand. The spell—whatever it was—was nonverbal, but Draco sensed that she was using it as some sort of call to arms…that within mere moments, the rest of her platoon would storm inside Lestrange Manor, armed and ready for battle. Potter, obviously predicting the same sort of outcome, was the first to shove his way across the parlor room…and straight towards Bellatrix herself.

"Your reign is over, Bellatrix, give it up" Harry called out in what seemed to be a voice much braver than Draco had been expecting from Potter. He lifted his wand as if to send a spell or hex her way, but the sudden thunderous sound of feet marching down the hall and bursting into the parlor from all sides distracted the Prat Who Lived. And just like that, everyone patrolling the Manor and those already at her side—Rodolphus, Yaxley, Greyback, Rowle, and Dolohov—impressed themselves upon the group of young witches and wizards. It was Bellatrix's next phrase—a single sentence, followed by a cold and unyielding sneer—that made Draco's blood run cold.

"_Kill them_."

Lestrange Manor became a blur after that. Rodolphus shoved his way through the throng of bodies in an effort to get to Harry. Potter, who must have seen him coming from a mile away, turned quickly on his feet, and his trainers squeaked unpleasantly against the smooth floor of the Lestrange Estate. With his wand at the ready and a fierce expression eating up his features, he looked every bit the martyr the rest of the sodding Wizarding World had painted him out to be. If Draco wasn't so terrified of facing his own imminent doom, he might have found it in him to be more critical of Potter in battle-ready formation.

As everyone threw themselves at one another, Draco pressed himself tighter against Granger. He could feel her pulse throbbing against his own as he clutched her hand, lifting his wand for protection and weaving her out of the line of fire. Avoid_, avoid, avoid_; he'd spent so many years protecting his family—protecting the parents who had hidden themselves away for safety and security—and for what? To go down in one last hell-fire at the hands of his mother's manic sister? No, _no_. He wasn't going to lose everything he'd worked so hard for.

But, most importantly, he wasn't going to lose _her_.

Lovegood was quick and light on her feet; for that, Draco had to give her credit. He watched as she skirted away from each advance Rowle made on her, causing the wizard to grow confused and disoriented with her jerky movements. Finnigan and Thomas had ganged up on Greyback (bloody beast of a man) together, and Dean had just managed to successfully deflect a curse that the werewolf had tossed at them when Greyback, stunned by the boys' level of defense, was shot clear across the room by his own wandwork. His body came crushing between Draco and Hermione, ultimately separating the two and shoving them halfway across the spacious parlor. He couldn't see Granger's bushy head over the chaos of the large room, but he could hear her voice—frantic and desperate—screeching for him through the destruction and chaos.

"Draco! _Draco_!"

"Granger, where are you?" Draco tried to call out, but his cries were drowned out by the sudden, high-pitched scream emitted by Hannah Abbott. Out of instinct, Draco spun around to face the young woman, and saw that Ernie Macmillan had crumpled into a heap on the floor. He was alive, but just barely, curled in on himself and sputtering out blood as the result of some foreign curse Rowle had tossed his way. Hannah stood brave and tall, furrowing her brows together and spreading her feet wide in a protective stance, before lifting her wand and—catching Rowle off guard in his smug glory—screaming "_Petrificus Totalus_!" at him. Rowle, unable to deflect the spell in time, froze and collided with the cold, hard ground, his eyes wide and terrified as they witnessed the battle raging around him.

Draco, struggling to keep himself focused and defensive, jumped clear across Rowle's petrified form with his wand raised in one clammy hand, deflecting and dodging each stray curse that made its way towards him. It was strange, the way his heart thrummed against his rib cage and fought its way up into his throat. His feet felt as heavy as lead as he skidded across the ground, struggling not to trip or falter as he sought sanctuary. And always, always, one thought dominated his mind: _find_ her, _save_ her, _protect_ her.

As Draco ran, he noticed that Bellatrix was squaring off with Longbottom himself, who was currently being backed into a corner by the wild-eyed witch. In his heart, Draco knew that if she wasn't so fixated on ruining him the same way she'd ruined his parents, dear Auntie Bellatrix would have been headed straight for _him_. And Weasley was too busy helping Harry fight off Rodolphus, who had proven to be an excellent opponent, to bother dealing with anyone else.

Meanwhile, Draco _still_ hadn't managed to make his way over to Hermione.

Really, in the chaos of it all, no one had bothered to notice Draco was there in the first place. Either that, or they were collectively saving the Blood Traitor for last. The term, still so fresh and bitter in Draco's mind, made him wince as he ran. He made his way over to Thomas and Finnigan, trying to shout over the ruckus and ask Finnigan if he'd seen Granger, when Greyback grabbed the Gryffindor by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside like garbage. Dean, frantic with worry, rushed over to a now unconscious Seamus' side, shielding him from any more advances from Greyback.

And that's when Fenrir became _Draco's_ problem.

Draco swallowed noisily, taking a hesitant step back as the large werewolf set his sights on the Malfoy boy. A sour, toothy grin ate up the beast's face, his sharp teeth twinkling in the lighting of the parlor and threatening to rip Draco apart. And suddenly, every curse, every hex, every jinx he'd ever learned fled from his mind. He was just barely able to dodge a slow and clumsy Cruciatus that Fenrir had been able to form on the tip of his tongue…and Draco knew that the next time Greyback aimed, he wouldn't miss.

They danced towards the middle of the room, passing by Ginny Weasley (who was currently being cornered by a carnivorous-looking Yaxley) and skirting away from Lovegood, who looked as though she'd recently taken a nasty blow to the mouth, and it was only when they were directly underneath the large and glittering light fixture at the center of the room that Draco felt a plan begin to formulate in the back of his mind. Acting quickly (and praying to God that Greyback wouldn't catch on), Draco lifted his wand and took aim…just as Greyback uttered "_Expelliarmus_." Draco's wand, much to his dismay, went flying from his hand, and just like that, he was hopeless. The young wizard tried to summon his wand, but to no avail; his wand was stubborn and he was too worked up to speak properly. And as Fenrir advanced on him, hulking and confident that he had outwitted the Malfoy boy, a quivering, familiar voice rang through the air behind them.

"_Confringo_!"

Granger's wand had been pointed at the base of the light fixture—the area pressed directly into the ceiling, and with a loud crash it broke away, sending the chandelier down, down, down…and directly on top of Greyback. The werewolf crumpled to the ground, and the weight and jagged edges of the chandelier dug into his back. The werewolf let out a loud, strangled howl that pierced the room. And there, just over the heap of his body, was Granger. Draco felt his heart speed up in his chest, threatening to burst right out of his body and splatter onto the ground below. He tore his way through the rubble towards her, reaching out with a fumbling and clammy hand to grab hold of her tattered clothing and pull her close. If Draco had been thinking clearly, he would have made sure to do a quick sweep of the perimeter; make sure that they were both clear and out of harm's way.

If Draco had been paying attention—even just a bit—then he would have noticed the way that Rodolphus was eyeing him; hungrily, and with purpose. He would have noticed the way he deflected a hex Potter had sent his way, causing the younger wizard to go flying against the wall. He would have noticed the way his attention was temporarily fixed on Draco and Hermione. And, most importantly, he would have seen the curse coming _long_ before he heard it.

So when a jet of bright light flickered out of the end of Rodolphus' wand and hit Draco square in the back, making the young wizard lose control of his legs and go colliding against the ground, he felt himself grow vulnerable and still. As the curse worked its way through his body, Draco compared the agony to having his insides gutted and hung up to dry. It was like watching as his organs were sliced open and his bones fought their way out of his flesh. Strangely enough, the curse was something akin to the way _Sectumsempra_ had felt on him, but different…more _unique_. Like a spell Rodolphus had been working on for years. Like something he'd been planning to use for a moment _exactly_ like this one. And Draco, sputtering for breath and unable to communicate anything—anything at all—felt his fingers grip and scrabble at the smooth flooring of the parlor. He heard Hermione's scream penetrate the room, and then—before he could tell her to watch her back or to get away—she was falling to the ground next to him, taking his head in her lap and brushing his dirt-caked blond hair away from his face. Her fingers were covered in soot and trembling as she cradled his face, leaning over and murmuring bits of nonsense to him. Ron, who had fallen behind helping protect Ginny from Yaxley (who was currently levitating upside down in the air courtesy a pranking spell the twins had once taught their younger siblings), was just now realizing what had happened, and was calling out for Hermione to watch her back. Rodolphus, making his way towards the pair, lifted his arm to utter what Draco could only _suppose_ was the Killing Curse, but then, as if on cue, Potter successfully dragged himself to his feet. And, panting and leaning against the wall for support, he cried out the one spell that seemed to be full-proof in warding off enemies.

"_Petrificus Totalus_."

And Rodolphus, much Rowle, was too late at evading the spell before it ricocheted up and down the length of his spine, freezing his limbs and sending him down, down, _down_ to the ground.

Most of the Order members were tending to their wounded now, as most of Bellatrix's army had either been knocked immobile, unconscious, or were too injured to go on. And at the center of it all stood Bellatrix and Neville, who were still battling relentlessly with one another. Draco, through blurry and tear-stained eyes, was able to see Longbottom cornered by Bellatrix, who seemed hellbent on destroying him. Draco nudged Hermione from where she lay, and she looked over her shoulder to watch the horrific sight unfold.

"Just like mum and dad, aren't you, Longbottom?" Bellatrix hissed out, and there was cruel and cold sort of pleasure to her voice. One that caused a shiver to erupt down the length of Draco's spine. Of course, it _might_ have just been the curse at work…

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione called out in a panic, and the boys—so atuned to one another—were gathering up their wands and limping their way through the crowd, fighting to get across the debris and fallen bodies in an effort to get to Neville in time.

"So weak, so _arrogant_ of their abilities…but they fell all too easily; just as you will," Bellatrix continued, and before either Harry or Ron could disarm the witch, she was shrieking out "_Avada Kedavra_" and aiming her wand _directly_ at Neville's chest.

Time stood still as a jet of piercing green light shot out from the tip of Neville's wand, making its journey from home directly towards its victim's chest. And Neville; quivering, stuttering Longbottom, looked as though he was accepting the fate that had surely long awaited him. His fingers trembled and his lips quivered; he whispered something to himself—something only he could hear—and then held up his wand, squeezed his fingers around his weapon, and successfully deflected the curse off of him.

And straight into Bellatrix Lestrange's chest.

There was a moment—a real, tangible moment—where Draco convinced himself she wasn't dead. But then the light flickered out of her eyes, and her lips—parted open in anger and shock—twitched one final time as the last breath fled her body. Her mangled soul, wrenching itself from her body, departed as her corpse at once fell in a heap onto the floor below with one final, dull thud.

"That," Neville breathed finally, stepping forward on shaking legs and holding onto the wall for support. He hovered over Bellatrix's lifeless form, pointing his wand down at her and spitting with more vitriol than Draco would have suspected from him. "was for my _parents_."

Draco's body was still dull and aching as the curse slowly began to wore off, and he patted Granger's hand to let her know he was okay. No one could say much of anything else. Not Luna, with her busted lip, or Ernie, with his spasming limbs, or even Dean Thomas, clutching onto Seamus' unconscious body and sobbing for him to be okay, could compare to the somber sort of sensation that settled over all of them as Harry and Ron, taking initative, magically bound all of Bellatrix's followers. And at the end of it all, shattered and weary, even Draco allowed himself a moment of silence as Neville fell to his knees before Bellatrix, pulled her wand out of her cold grip, and snapped it directly in half.

"Enough," Neville breathed, and Draco felt himself agreeing with Longbottom. Possibly for the first time in his life. "_Enough_."

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><p><strong>aN:** Well, it's been a while, hasn't that? For that, I apologize! Working and attending college is extraordinarily stressful and eats up a lot of my time. And, admittedly, I found myself distancing myself from fanfiction for a bit and focusing solely on developing my own characters and worlds (which, of course, is what every writer aims to do). But when I've had time, I've been thinking back on SoG and today, with a spark of motivation, I finished up this chapter! We're nearing the end of what has been a very near and dear experience for me, and I hope you all enjoy the outcome of Hermione and Draco I've been planning on in this fic for quite some time now! Hope you're all doing well and, as per usual, please leave your comments/reviews below! They mean the world to me!


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